


to build a home

by twistedsky



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedsky/pseuds/twistedsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michaela marries Laurel so that she doesn't have to testify against her when Laurel gets picked up on murder charges. Slightly silly logic ensues, and leads to eventual pining and (possibly) unrequited love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to build a home

**Author's Note:**

> Important notes!
> 
> Warnings: Alcohol use, murder(some canon, some not), the use of a few expletives(mostly in the tense beginning), and a little bit of the trauma that comes after that. 
> 
> 1\. I started writing this fic two weeks ago, which means that it is definitely not canon-compliant. I fit the flashforwards together in a definitely non-canon way.
> 
> 2\. This fic is named after the song 'To Build a Home' by The Cinematic Orchestra.
> 
> 3\. All states have laws that dictate that spouses can't be legally forced to testify against each other(Spousal Testimonial Privilege), though different states have different exceptions and requirements for that. I'm not a lawyer, but I did make sure that Laurel and Michaela's situation at least ~sort of fits into the situation. As far as I can tell, I'm toeing the line a bit in terms of suspension of disbelief, but if you want to take that leap with me, then feel to read the fic. 
> 
> 3\. Technically, same sex marriage was legal in Pennsylvania in the spring of 2015, which is about when the current season takes place, considering the timeline. 
> 
> 4\. There's some Connor/Oliver, and one tiny mention of what I like to think is Annalise/Eve/Nate, but it doesn't have to be. 
> 
> 5\. All mistakes are my own, and I'm sure there are some. I've never written a oneshot this long before, so I'm not entirely sure how well it turned out.

“Oliver’s missing,” Connor says, and while Laurel understands the worry, and she even understands them all going to the Hapstall mansion when they get the message from Philip, swearing he’ll kill him if they don’t come, she’s not sure why they’re not calling the police.

“He said he’d kill Oliver,” Michaela says, and Laurel gets  _that_.

“That’s what they always say,” Laurel points out.

Connor gives her a withering glare in the rearview mirror of Michaela’s car, and she stares blankly back at him.

They really shouldn’t be doing this.

~~

Laurel’s not wrong.

Philip has a knife at Laurel’s throat.

Wes pulls out a gun—a fucking  _gun_ —and points it at Philip. “Let him go,” he says, and Laurel’s beginning to worry about Catherine and Caleb now, and what’s going to happen if they wake up.

This is a mess already.

The knife cuts into her slightly, but her adrenaline is pumping, and she doesn’t feel it or notice it at all.

“Shoot him,” Michaela says to Wes, then turns to Philip. “Let Laurel go,” she says tensely, and Laurel’s a little surprised that she cares whether she lives or dies at all. “And tell us where Oliver is.”

Philip doesn’t move.

Laurel’s taken self-defense classes before, but Philip is a predator, and he knows what he’s doing. Besides framing Catherine and Caleb for the murder of their parents, he’s also got a tight hold on her with a knife pressed into her neck.

It wouldn’t take much for her to bleed out on the floor.

“Oliver’s in a trunk in my apartment,” Philip says with little interest. “Alive, for now, but only because I find him interesting.”

Connor makes a move to leave, but then Annalise comes in, and Laurel isn’t sure what the hell she’s doing here, but it causes enough chaos for Philip to let her go and rush at Wes, knocking him over.

The gun goes off, and by the time Laurel looks up, Annalise is on the carpet, bleeding.

Caleb comes running in, and Michaela intercepts him, screaming at him to get the hell out of the house  _now_ , and tossing her keys at him.

Laurel reaches for the gun, because it landed near her, and the next thing she knows, she has it pointed it Philip, and Michaela’s screaming.

This time, Philip has his knife, and he looks ready to slash Michaela’s throat.

She shoots.

~~

Philip’s dead, and Annalise is bleeding to death.

Connor’s holding her hand, but then Michaela yanks him away from the body.

They’re not doing this again.

Laurel’s hands are surprisingly steady.

There’s no coming back from this.

“We blame it on Philip,” Wes says, and Connor and Michaela are running away.

They have to call an ambulance, but Laurel’s not sure when the hell they’re supposed to do that, because they can’t get caught here.

Wes takes the gun from her hand, and puts a hand on her shoulder. “We have to go after them.”

They run outside onto the patio and look over the balcony and call out to Connor and Michaela.

They need to stick together.

They’re splintering, and this will all end in life in prison if they're not careful.

And then Sinclair's body falls over a railing, and  _Bonnie_ is staring down at them and Laurel’s not sure how this can get much worse.

Wes runs upstairs, and Laurel runs downstairs, catching up to Michaela and Connor in the woods.

“Wait,” she yells. “You can’t go.”

“Oh, we can’t?” Michaela hisses at her. “In case you didn’t notice, you just killed a man.”

Connor turns to her then, and frowns. “Michaela, she did it to protect you.” Michaela doesn’t say anything.

Laurel can’t take her eyes off of Michaela, who won’t stop looking at her.

Maybe she thinks Laurel’s a monster, or maybe she’s even halfway grateful, but it doesn’t matter.

“We have to stick together,” Laurel says. “We’ll leave in your car,” she says to Michaela, and then Michaela winces, and Laurel remembers. “You gave Caleb your car keys.”

Michaela shakes her head. “I wasn’t thinking, I just—I care—“ she stops talking then, and looks down at the ground.

“If we leave now, separately, and we get caught, and we don’t have exactly the same story—“ Laurel hesitates.

“She’s right,” Connor says, pacing. “We have to talk this out. I can’t believe—I can’t believe this is happening  _again._ ”

Wes runs over to them then, and they take off.

They need to get away from here.

~~

When Nate finds them, it’s a godsend, but she doesn’t know how it happened.

He explains that Annalise had called him, because she’d been worried about Philip going after the Hapstalls.

Apparently, Connor wasn’t the only one who got a nasty call from homicidal Philip.

“I cleaned off the gun and put it near Philip,” Wes says, “But the cops aren’t going to buy that that gunshot was self-inflicted.”

Basically, they’re fucked.

~~

Annalise is in the hospital, and the rest of them are staying quiet.

They’ve all been questioned by the police, because they were working on the case, and Annalise is their boss.

Laurel’s not sure why Catherine Hapstall woke up in the woods, or why Asher confessed to killing Sinclair, but she’s trying to stay hopeful that they’re going to get through this.

Everything’s going to be okay.

Frank is gone. He hasn’t answered a single phone call or text message, and even a rescued Oliver can’t seem to find any sign of him.

He’s gone.

Laurel is somehow not surprised.

She’s disappointed, and maybe even a little heartbroken, but she’ll be fine.

She’s never been very good at getting attached, because people can’t be trusted.

Her dad’s never left her, but he’s also never been there for her, and she’s pretty sure that Frank is just the first of a lot of guys who are going to go when the going gets tough.

She’s drinking coffee and working on a paper when the police show up and arrest her, and all she can think of is how she wishes he’d have taken her with him.

~~

Her dad’s got a lot of power, and a lot of money, and he’s not above buying off judges, so somehow she’s out on bail.

They also don’t have a whole lot of evidence.

They’ve got her blood on Philip’s knife, and that’s it.

“They’re trying to tap me as a witness,” Michaela hisses at her. “Because I accepted that phone call from Caleb, and they figured out that I was in the area, too close to the house right after the murders.”

That’s when Annalise summons them.

She’s weak, but she’s alive.

And somehow, she’s still trying to protect them.

“They’re going to prove that Michaela was there, and they’ll put her up on the stand, and get her to testify against you.”

Michaela's a good liar, but her story will fall apart in seconds if the DA gets even an inkling of the truth.

 “It’s all circumstantial,” Wes says.

“I have an idea,” Annalise says, and then groans in pain. “But you’re not gonna like it.”

~~

Without Michaela, there’s not much of a case.

Annalise isn’t the one who defends Laurel, because she's still in the hospital. Laurel tells her father to hire Bonnie, and despite the fact that her life is as big a mess as any of theirs, the case doesn't go to trial due to lack of evidence.

But here’s the thing—first, Laurel and Michaela have to get married.

~~

They have a week to plan the wedding.

Laurel calls her grandmother, who loves nothing more than a giant party, and gets started on planning.

Her father is disappointed. He’s not exactly the most accepting person in the world, but his mother is vicious when it comes to those she loves, and she loves Laurel.

He doesn’t give her his blessing, but he gives her a hell of a lot of money as a wedding present, and promises them a house after they’ve graduated law school.

In the meantime, they have to move in together, and it’s not exactly fun or easy to shove all of Michaela’s things into Laurel’s apartment.

“I’ve always liked white roses,” Michaela says, staring off into space after she sets down a box.

“I’ll tell my grandmother,” Laurel says, and then hesitates. “I’m sorry.”

Michaela meets her eyes. “Yeah,” she says, “Me too.”

~~

But first—

“I’m not marrying Michaela,” Laurel says, and she’d laugh if things weren’t so serious.

There’s silence then, and Laurel is pretty sure that this is it.

Maybe she can beat this on a self-defense gambit, or maybe she can find some other way out of this.

“Yes, you are,” Michaela says then. “You did it to protect me, and I’m not going to let you go to prison.”

Laurel looks over at her, and Michaela stares back at her levelly.

“Michaela—“ Laurel hesitates. “Murder doesn’t have a statute of limitations.”

“I know,” Michaela says. “It’s a fake marriage. I’ll—I’ll work around it.”

“This means you’ll never marry anyone else,” Laurel says softly.

“And neither will you,” Michaela points out, and then laughs bitterly.

And that’s how they become engaged.

~~

They sit down with pads of paper and pens, and Laurel looks at her list of concerns, and doesn’t know where to start.

Michaela clears her throat. “We should probably talk about dating. Other people, I mean.”

“We’ll say we’re in an open relationship,” Laurel says, “And you can date whomever you want.”

Michaela nods solemnly, like that’s not quite good enough, but she doesn’t want to say so.

The truth is, Laurel doesn’t think Michaela would be happy with anything other than not being married at all, but she's made her choice. They both have. 

“We should move into your apartment,” Michaela says. “Since it’s bigger, and has a guest room.”

“I’ve already cleared out my things,” Laurel tells her, and makes a note.

“We’ll have to talk about grocery shopping,” Michaela sighs. “And cleaning.”

Laurel’s been living on her own since her second year of her undergrad, after she escaped mandatory freshman housing. “If you put your food on my list, I can handle the grocery shopping,” Laurel says. “I like it.” She finds it soothing, if she’s honest, but there’s something to be said about not letting your fake wife know all your secrets.

Michaela hesitates. “We should probably talk about money—“ She shakes her head and sighs. “I’ve got some of my own, but I’m not exactly rolling in it.”

“My dad takes care of the apartment, and keeps discretionary account full for food, the bills—“ Laurel’s not sure what to say. It sounds strange to say it like that, like she should feel guilty, or embarrassed, but Laurel’s dealt with her issues with her dad already.

The summer she’d tried to make it on her own, he hadn’t just cut her off, he’d actively worked against her, and almost gotten her thrown out of her university.

She doesn’t play with fire when she can use it to her own benefit.

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable with that,” Michaela says. “I don’t want to feel—“

“Beholden to me?” Laurel finishes. “We’re getting married, Michaela, you’re going to have to figure out a way to be comfortable with it until we’ve both got jobs after law school.”

Michaela looks frustrated. “Please, don’t speak for me, or assume you have any idea how I’m feeling right now.”

“Fine,” Laurel says.

“Fine,” Michaela snaps back, and then they sit quietly for a solid minute and a half before Michaela flips the page on her notebook. “We still have to talk about cleaning.”

“I’m generally pretty clean, we could just share the load. Clean up after ourselves, and then clean anything else when we see it needs to be done. Like, if you fill up the trash can, then take it out.”

“Fine,” Michaela says, and Laurel has to bite back a retort.

“This isn’t easy for me either,” Laurel says. “I wasn’t exactly planning on marrying someone who hates me, and spending the rest of my life with them.”

“After we graduate, maybe we’ll get jobs halfway around the world from each other, and we can just have a commuter marriage,” Michaela suggests.

“We can only hope,” Laurel says.

Michaela looks up at her then, studying her, as if searching for something. She softens, but only the least bit it takes her to speak. “I know it isn’t easy. I’m not even gay, and now I’m going to be known as a lesbian lawyer who made the mistake of marrying someone during law school.”

“You could always tell them you’re bisexual,” Laurel says with a shrug. “I plan to.”

“Are you?” Michaela asks, with only slight interest.

“Kind of, a little maybe. Selectively.” There have been a few girls, but they haven’t lasted any longer than the boys.

Laurel wonders what it says about her.

“Maybe we can get a divorce one day,” Michaela says. “Maybe we can just wait a while and then—“

“When you get served the day after our divorce papers go through, remind yourself of how Annalise told us to suck it up, and you thought you could outmaneuver the system,” Laurel says, and then starts drawing evil bunnies with knives in her margins.

“Maybe they’ll pin it on someone else,” Michaela says.

“If they do, then we’ll get a divorce,” Laurel says, but she’s not feeling particularly optimistic about it. The DA told her that there’s literally an alert in the system that’ll happen in case they ever try to dissolve their marriage, and it won’t take long for them to press charges.

Michaela seems happy at the idea that there might actually be a way out of this for them, but it’s not going to last.

~~

They’re faking an entire relationship, because apparently Michaela's parents care about her welfare.

Oliver goes back and adds a fake relationship history post-Michaela’s breakup with Aiden, and makes it seem like Laurel and Michaela are some kind of soulmates.

Laurel doesn’t much care for soulmates, but Oliver does good work, and Laurel’s trying not to go to jail for life.

They should keep this wedding small, but Laurel’s father has never been good at small, and neither has her grandmother.

They fly in Michaela’s family, and most of Laurel’s extended family. The next thing she knows, she’s walking down the aisle surrounded by white roses toward Michaela, who had just walked down moments before.

Laurel doesn’t hear a word the minister says, just follows the ‘repeat after me’ part, and watches as Michaela does the same.

Then, she kisses her wife in front of three hundred people, and tries not to think about how this is her life now.

~~

During the first dance, Laurel is hit by the full force of all of it.

She’s married to  _Michaela Pratt_ ,the girl who didn’t get her name right for the first two months that Laurel knew her, the girl who sniped at her for months after Laurel gave her back her engagement ring, the girl who, as it turns out, is saving her ass.

They pose for pictures, and cut the cake, and stand by while the guests come to congratulate them. Laurel thinks her father knows why she's marrying Michaela, or suspects at least, but he doesn't say a word.

They’ve got a huge pile of presents, and the promise of more. 

At least Laurel’s mother has agreed to take them, and write the thank you notes.

Or, more likely, get her assistant to write them, but at this point Laurel doesn’t care.

She’s got more important things to worry about than thank you notes.

The first night of Laurel’s marriage to Michaela ends with them in separate rooms, without a word spoken between them after they leave their wedding.

Laurel keeps searching for something to say, like maybe there’s something that can make all of this less of a disaster.

She’s already said she’s sorry, and she’s already said thank you, and she doesn’t think Michaela really wants to hear anything from her right now, and so she says nothing.

~~

After the charges are dismissed, Laurel’s life goes back to normal.

Or, at least, some semblance of it.

Annalise gets out of the hospital, but she’s still recovering, and the Hapstall case is finished, so she takes a break, stepping back from law for the rest of the semester.

Which means that the Keating 5 are over.

Asher’s in jail, and Laurel’s still not sure if he did it, but he confessed.

Laurel tries not to think about that.

Instead, she focuses on the fact that even though Michaela’s living in her guest room, they’re still sharing the same bathroom, and Michaela’s a bit of a shower hog in the morning.

“I married you so that you wouldn’t go to jail,” Michaela says when Laurel complains. “I’m pretty sure that entitles me to use the bathroom first in the morning.”

Laurel glares at her, and then pulls down her pants and sits on the toilet, and Michaela makes a face at her.

“I’m not done.”

“I don’t care,” Laurel says, and Michaela doesn’t want to blink first, so she just stares at her reflection and finishes her makeup.

Laurel sits there for a good thirty seconds, battling her nervous bladder before she starts to pee.

She feels ridiculous.

~~

The nightmares are back.

After Wes killed Sam, and they’d all covered it up, Laurel had nightmares for weeks.

She’d acted tough, like she believed that they could all get through it if they could just stick together, if they could just trust in Annalise.

But it took time for her to accept it, to really be okay with it.

Maybe she’s just super fucked up because of her parents, or maybe she was just born this way, but Laurel had worked through it faster than most people are probably supposed to.

This, however, is different.

She keeps waking up in a cold sweat, remembering her finger on the trigger, and remembering all of the blood.

There was blood everywhere, and a man’s brains on the floor, and that was  _her_.

She can’t exactly lean on her family. She’s honestly not sure if they think she’s guilty or not, and they would never ask.

The Castillos never ask, they just make it go away.

And that’s what Laurel has done.

And she can’t exactly talk to Michaela about it. Michaela resents her, even though she married her, and honestly Laurel’s not sure  _why_.

Michaela has signed away her freedom for Laurel’s, and there’s no real justification coming from Michaela. Michaela’s not exactly opening up to Laurel, sharing her feelings like they’re friends, let alone wives.

The point is, Laurel doesn’t have a lot of options.

She’s never been very close to Connor, and Annalise is still recuperating, and Bonnie looks like she’s falling apart every time Laurel sees her, which isn’t very often, admittedly.

She’d have talked to Frank if he were here, but he’s not.

He’s abandoned her, and so she goes to the only person who could possibly understand. The only person who she’s almost always been on the same wavelength as.

She knocks on Wes’s door at eleven o’clock at night, and she should feel guilty, but she knows he’s awake.

Wes opens it and stares at her in confusion.

“Can I come in?” Laurel asks, and Wes nods solemnly.

“You’re here about Philip,” Wes says, and Laurel nods.

“How’d you guess?” Laurel asks wryly.

“I’d wished I had someone to really talk to after Sam,” Wes says softly, and Laurel reaches out and pats his hand.

“Do you have any advice?” Laurel asks.

Wes laughs, but there’s no light, no humor in it. “Not really. Sam needed to die. He—“ Wes sighs. “He killed Lila, and he was going to kill us.”

“He was,” Laurel says, and she closes her eyes. “And Philip tried to kill me, and then Michaela, and—“ she sighs. “He’d already murdered Caleb and Catherine’s parents, and his own mother. He was a monster.”

“He was,” Wes says, but Laurel doesn’t feel comforted by his agreement.

The question Laurel wants to ask is: Does that make me a monster too?

Instead, she sits down, and Wes hands her a glass of water, and they just sit there quietly in some sort of murderous solidarity.

~~

Their first fight is over dishes, at least that’s what they’re currently pretending it’s about.

Laurel’s pretty sure that’s not the real root of their issues.

“You have to actually take the clean dishes out and put them in the cupboards at some point,” Michaela hisses.

“Maybe you should try doing that with all of the boxes you have in your bedroom, Michaela. Ever considered actually unpacking?” Laurel asks.

Michaela’s seething. “I can do what I want in my space,” she says, clearly trying to be calm. “But this—“ she waves a hand around. “Is common space, which means we have to be considerate of each other, and not put all the stress on one person.”

“Like the fact that you always leave toothpaste in the sink, and I’m always the one who has to clean it out?” Laurel asks. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s common space too, and I didn’t hear you complaining about that.”

Michaela glares at her like she’d like to set her on fire, or maybe cut her into little pieces and throw her out with yesterday’s trash.

Michaela grunts in irritation and raises her hands, flailing them out in her frustration.

Laurel has the sudden urge to laugh, which she knows is a bad idea.

She covers her mouth with her hand as surreptitiously as she can.

She fails, apparently, because she swears that Michaela’s nostrils are flaring.

“What’s so funny, Laurel?” Michaela yells. “It’s not like we’re trapped in a fake marriage, in your awful apartment, with all of your snobby furniture and the smell of that disgusting broccoli you insist on making every other day with your dinner. Do you  _know_  how to cook anything else?”

Laurel happens to like broccoli, thank you very much.

“If you’re so upset, then  _leave_ , Michaela. File for divorce, take your crap and get out.”

Laurel’s fed up, and she doesn’t really feel like laughing anymore.

She’s not going to force Michaela to stay.

“Ugh!” Michaela looks like she wants to break something, and Laurel’s just sort of hoping she goes for that awful gravy boat one of her cousins sent her as a birthday gift last year.

Laurel breathes in and out, deeply and calmly. “If you don’t want to be here, then go.”

Michaela looks at her hands, and then at the apartment, and then finally at Laurel. “You know I can’t leave.”

“You can,” Laurel says. “I’ll figure out something else. Just, go.”

Michaela considers it for a moment, looking down and wringing her hands nervously.

It’s the longest moment of Laurel’s life.

Michaela looks back up, and she looks determined. “No,” she says softly. “I’m staying.”

Laurel nods. “Okay then,” she says. “We should probably make a chore list.”

Michaela nods back, and Laurel lets out a relieved sigh.

~~

Things aren’t so bad after that.

They adjust, and they’re both busy, barely even interacting most days.

Laurel tries to be considerate, and she remembers to put her dishes away—and Michaela rinses out the bathroom sink after she’s done brushing her teeth.

Progress.                                                                                                                                                                

It’s not exactly the most traditional marriage, but at least it’s reasonably functional.

Laurel stops waking up in cold sweats, and instead she just has the occasional nightmare. The image of Philip’s dead body is perpetually trapped in the forefront of her mind.

But hey, progress, right?

If she pretends she’s okay for long enough, she has to eventually  _be_  okay.

This, at least, is what she tells herself.

~~

“I’m ordering dinner, what do you want?” Laurel asks.

It’s finals season, and they’ve barely seen each other in days, and Laurel thinks that this is what marriage looks like, she might be able to manage it.

Michaela’s still got most of her things in boxes, and that surprises Laurel, who always thought she was a little too type A not to have unpacked everything and organized it  _just so_. But hey, what does she know?

“Thai,” Michaela says with a frown. “No, pizza. Pepperoni, extra cheese.”

Laurel hesitates then, like maybe she should do something friendly, or wifely, but honestly? It’s a fake marriage.

Maybe, one day, Michaela will stop hating her.

Or, at least, stop resenting her.

Laurel’s pretty sure that’s too much to ask.

“Are you done staring at me?” Michaela asks then, and Laurel rolls her eyes and shuts Michaela’s door, and goes off to order the pizza.

She nearly trips over Michaela’s weird lamp, and tries not to resent Michaela’s intrusion into her space.

~~

They finish their finals, and for some reason that means that Connor, Wes and Oliver are all in Laurel’s living room.

“What is this, an intervention?” Laurel quips before heading to the fridge.

She’s had a long damn day, and she’s finally free.

One year down, two to go.

Hopefully, the next two years of law school will involve a lot less murder.

“No, it’s a party,” Michaela says lightly. “We’re getting drunk and celebrating being alive and free.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Laurel says, and she grabs the tequila instead of the leftovers from the night before.

Twenty minutes later, Laurel already has a nice, tipsy feeling, and Connor and Oliver are making out on Laurel’s couch, which she now has to burn, and Wes is dancing in the corner by himself, which is not too surprising, since he got into the moonshine  _hard_.

Michaela laughs and falls into the couch Laurel is sitting on.

She’s got a bottle of wine in her hand, and she’s drinking straight from it. “I think we have to burn that couch,” she mock whispers to Laurel, who turns to look at her, and can’t help but smile.

Michaela looks relaxed, and weirdly happy.

It’s a fake sort of happiness—the kind that comes from pleasant tipsiness and a relatively good day, good friends, and decent music.

It’s not real, and Laurel knows that, but it’s good to know that the rest of her life isn’t going to be filled with a mopey, sad and angry Michaela.

Sometimes, they'll have good days.

“I was just thinking that,” Laurel says. “We could grab yours out of storage.”

“I don’t know if it’d fit with the décor,” Michaela says with a snort. “You’ve got a rich snob thing going on in here.”

Laurel would take offense, but most of this was picked out by her mother’s interior designer anyway.

“We should get a dog,” Michaela says then. “A cute little floppy dog.”

Laurel raises an eyebrow. “Dogs are a lot of work, Michaela.”

Michaela shrugs. “Maybe a cat then.”

As if, somehow, cats aren’t just as much work.

Laurel watches Michaela finish off the bottle of wine, and concludes that there’s no way she’s adopting a dog when she’s completely sober, and then gets up to dance with Wes, so that he feels a little less lonely.

~~

They’ve both got internships with different firms, but they’ve got decent hours, and so when Laurel gets home, she often comes home to Michaela  _cooking_.

The first few times it happens, she thinks it’s some sort of fluke. Michaela motions at the food and says Laurel can have some, and it tastes amazing.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Laurel says, closing her eyes. “This is really good.”

“My dad’s a cop, but my mom’s a professional chef,” Michaela reveals, and that explains a lot about the man and woman Laurel met at their wedding.

“Hmm,” Laurel says, and then grabs a spoon and takes a quick bite of the sauce Michaela’s making. “Oh my god.”

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Michaela asks smugly.

“It’s amazing,” Laurel says. “If you weren’t already my wife, I’d marry you for it.”

Michaela snorts, and Laurel contemplates taking another bite when Michaela snatches the spoon out of her hand. “it’s not done yet.”

Laurel pouts, but then her doorbell rings, and she heads to answer it.

“Packages for Laurel Castillo,” the woman says, and Laurel nods and signs her name.

“Packages?” Michaela asks, and Laurel realizes what’s coming.

“Oh no,” Laurel says, shaking her head. “I take it back, let’s pretend I didn’t just sign that.”

It’s too late.

The woman hands her a stack of four relatively small-sized boxes. “I’ll have to make a few more trips,” she says, and Laurel stares in horror at her back.

“What’s going on?” Michaela demands.

Laurel turns toward her helplessly. “My mom sent us back our wedding gifts,” and Michaela’s eyes widen in horror.

~~

There’s a list of gifts, and who sent them, but everything’s been stuffed in boxes, so it’s impossible to tell what’s what.

They had over three hundred guests, and taking into consideration couples, they’ve got 204 gifts.

“Maybe we should donate everything,” Laurel suggests.

Michaela frowns down at the list over Laurel’s shoulder. “I think we should probably go through the boxes first.”

Laurel grabs the first box she sees and opens it up.

“Matching necklaces from Aunt Gina,” Laurel says, handing them to Michaela, who oohs and ahhs over them. Laurel actually wants to keep hers, so she thinks Michaela might have had a point about going through these boxes.

“A blender, and a turkey platter,” Laurel finishes off the first set of things that had been packed together.

“No on the blender, yes on the platter,” Michaela says. “I make a mean turkey, and that platter is gorgeous. And definitely yes on the necklaces.” She’s already putting hers on.

Laurel looks around at their apartment, which is literally packed. They’ve got boxes everywhere, and Laurel’s pretty sure the whole delivery truck was just their wedding gifts.

Laurel puts the platter on the coffee table, and puts her necklace in her pocket, and puts the blender back in the box.

Michaela grabs a box then, and Laurel grabs another.

This is going to take a while.

“Another blender,” Michaela says with a sigh. “Why? Just, why?”

“A handcarved, giant giraffe,” Laurel announces. “I have no idea what we’re supposed to do with this.”

“It’s cute,” Michaela says with a shrug. “I’ll put it in my room.”

“Along with all of your other unpacked boxes?” Laurel points out, and Michaela frowns at her.

“I’m going to ignore you,” Michaela announces, and keeps going through her box. “A new knife set, this is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Michaela is caressing the package with awe, and Laurel bites her tongue to stop from laughing.

~~

It takes them a while to get through all of the gifts, and they drop the things off every few days, once they’ve accumulated enough for a donation run.

But first, Wes, Connor, and Oliver grab some things for themselves.

Oliver gets excited about a food processor, which Laurel just shrugs and tells him to take, because they got two of them.

There’s a tea set, and an entire set of gorgeous dishes that Laurel is halfway afraid to eat off of.

Wes takes the throw pillows, the fishing equipment some cousin of hers decided was a good wedding present, and a comforter set with a thread count so high he almost does a spit take.

Connor ends up with a coffee machine, because Laurel’s is her baby(and better, in her opinion, though not as new), and their old couches, because they’re getting an entirely new set next week.

Connor has to argue with Oliver about the couches, but they’re nice, and Laurel hasn’t actually had them all that long, and it doesn’t take too much persuading.

When they’re finally done with all the gifts, and everything they’re keeping has been integrated into the apartment, Laurel feels like collapsing.

The last load of donations is in her car, thankfully, and now she just wants to take a nap.

Michaela collapses next to her. “We need a new place.”

Laurel looks up at her. “We need more space,” she agrees.

The idea of going apartment hunting with Michaela terrifies Laurel a little, but they’re sort of friendly(if not friends), and actually married, so Laurel’s just going to have to deal with it.

~~

“The first one had mold,” Laurel says with a sigh, “The second was too small, the third was eight flights up without an elevator—“

“Not exactly a very friendly building,” Michaela points out. “What if I were elderly, or in a wheelchair or—“

“Anyway,” Laurel says, continuing down the list. “The fourth and fifth we agreed were both too far from campus.”

Michaela shrugs. “And the sixth doesn’t allow pets.”

“We don’t have pets,” Laurel points out.

“But we could,” Michaela presses. “A dog, or a cat, or a bird—a snake,” she says, with a gleam in her eyes.

There’s something about Michaela that faintly scares Laurel, and oddly enough, she likes it.

“It’s got a beautiful view though,” Laurel points out. “Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, just renovated last year. It’s perfect.”

“It’s pricey,” Michaela says.

“It’s nice,” Laurel says, “And my dad’ll pick up the tab for it anyway.”

Laurel’s spent a long time accepting the fact that she accepts money from her father, but she tries to remind herself that it’s just a means to an end.

It’s not like either of them have any actual income, because they’re law students, and so Laurel is going to lean on the privilege that her wealth affords her.

She’s lucky, and she knows it.

“I liked the house for rent on Apple Street,” Michaela says, and Laurel scrunches up her nose in confusion.

“You mean Orange?” Laurel asks, and Michaela waves a hand.

“Same-diff,” Michaela says with little interest. “What do you think?”

“It only has one bathroom,” Laurel points out.

Michaela sighs, and puts a hand over her heart. “Oh, the humanity. I guess I’ll have to suffer through sharing a bathroom with you for a while longer if it means we’ll only be a few blocks from campus.”

The house is cute, with a brick walkway and a happy little mailbox that looks like a miniature dog house.

“I’ll call the property manager,” Laurel says, and Michaela’s eyes light up.

Michaela’s happy, happy enough to spring out of her chair and hug Laurel, shocking them both.

Michaela rights herself, adjusts her dress and smiles. “It’s perfect,” she says, and Laurel’s still a little confused by the odd sensation she’s feeling right now.

~~

The biggest surprise about the new house is that Michaela actually unpacks.

Laurel has a feeling why, but she’s not exactly going to broach the subject.

Laurel’s apartment was  _hers_  first and foremost, but this is theirs, and Laurel thinks that makes all the difference.

Laurel’s got wine chilling in the fridge, and she’s sweating from the stress of unpacking all day, and she’s ready to watch some TV and relax.

The problem, Laurel realizes once she’s settled in front of the TV, is that she’s forgotten the wine.

“Michaela—“ Laurel calls out, and she’s rewarded by Michaela peeking her head out of her room.

“What?”

Laurel gives her the sweetest smile she can manage. “How would you like to grab the wine out of the fridge and celebrate a long day’s work with me?”

Michaela laughs, and shakes her head, but she heads toward the kitchen, grabbing a bottle and two glasses.

“What is this show?” Michaela asks.

They haven’t spent a lot of time in front of the television together, between their busy schedules, and the fact that Laurel usually just watches her shows on her laptop.

Today, however, she’s lazy, and her room feels a mile away.

Laurel looks at Michaela guiltily.

“Z Nation,” Laurel says. “I’m only two episodes in, and I know it’s kind of cheesy, but—“

“Oh no,” Michaela says, handing her a glass of wine and shaking her head. “I like cheesy.”

Laurel gives her a considering look, and then grabs her remote and exits out of the episode.

“Hey!” Michaela says. “I was watching that.”

“We’re going to start from the beginning,” Laurel says, and she’s being a little presumptuous, but Michaela just smiles and nods.

“Awesome,” Michaela takes a sip of her wine and settles in comfortably on the couch next to Laurel. “Let’s do this.” She frowns.

Laurel is doing that awful thing she does where she watches someone who is watching something that she’s seen before, trying to gauge their reactions.

Michaela frowns. “Those are some nasty ass zombie bites.”

“You’d think that the zombies would have managed to kill him, even if he didn’t turn,” Laurel says. “Because they’re pretty bad.”

Michaela nods. “I totally get what you mean. They must have just stopped eating after that initial bite,” she shrugs. “I know this show is trying to be funny and dramatic, and that it’s kind of cheesy in that Syfy original movie kind of way, but I love it.”

“Me too,” the words just burst out of her. “I can’t help it.”

Michaela turns her head and smiles at Laurel, and Laurel can’t help but smile back.

~~

Laurel wakes up to Michaela’s light snoring, and Netflix asking her if she’s still watching her TV.

Laurel smiles at Michaela, who seems rather peaceful, and she’s grateful that they’re not the kind of married couple who shares a bed, because Michaela is a bit of a fitful sleeper.

Laurel grabs one of her blankets and gently drapes it over Michaela, who twists and turns, but doesn’t wake up.

“No,” Michaela groans. “Don’t kill him.”

Laurel freezes where she is, standing over Michaela, and wonders what that’s supposed to mean.

Laurel gets the nightmares sometimes too, and it doesn’t surprise her to know that Michaela does, but it worries her a little.

“No!” Michaela says louder, and she turns restlessly like she’s trying to fight someone.

She’s torn between wanting to wake up Michaela to stop the nightmare, and not wanting to upset her any further.

It doesn’t take a psychic to know that there’s no way Michaela wants Laurel to know about her nightmares, and there’s always the chance that the panic of waking up will be worst than the nightmare itself.

In the time that Laurel hesitates, Michaela rolls over and suddenly stops moving.

Laurel waits, and the snoring begins again.

Laurel reaches out like she wants to pat Michaela’s shoulder, or give her some sort of support, but she’s not entirely sure Michaela would appreciate it even if she were awake.

It’s one thing to make a rotating chore wheel, or to make dinner together, or to marathon a silly show about zombies.

But this is different.

Laurel turns off the TV and tiptoes over to her bedroom, easing open the door and sliding inside.

This is a careful balancing act, and Laurel’s not going to do anything to screw it up.

~~

A month into summer, Michaela comes home with a determined, but hesitant look on her face.

Laurel takes one look at her, and cocks her head to the side. “What do you want?”

Michaela grimaces. “I got a really great opportunity today. One of my bosses invited me to play couples tennis with her and her husband.”

“Couples tennis?” Laurel sees where this is going.

“Exactly,” Michaela says, forging ahead. “And I mentioned that I’m a really great player, and I’m married, and, well—“

“One thing led to another,” Laurel finishes. “Playing with a partner could lead to a job later on,” she says, “I’ll do it.”

She doesn’t even really have to think about it.

Michaela’s her  _wife_ , and while she has no idea when she’s supposed to get used to saying that, it’s true.

There are responsibilities that come with that, and beyond the fact that Laurel still owes Michaela for keeping her out of jail, Laurel’s also invested in Michaela’s success.

Their fates are entwined now.

Michaela looks relieved now, but she’s trying to look nonchalant, either like she doesn’t care, or like she knew Laurel was going to say yes.

“I just have one question,” Laurel says then.

“Yeah?” Michaela looks nervous again.

“Can we kick their asses, or do we have to dial it back?”

Michaela smiles. “We’re going to give them a run for their money.”

~~

Laurel is barely breaking a sweat, and they’re running Michaela’s boss and her husband ragged.

“Let’s call it quits,” Diana says, bent over with her hands on her knees.

Laurel has to hide a smile, and Michaela goes over to act concerned.

They should probably dial it back, because it’s not exactly a good idea to destroy your boss in tennis.

Diana and her husband Kurt walk over to get some water from the fancy attendant at the country club, and Michaela comes back over to Laurel.

Michaela’s face breaks out in a smile. “She loves me. Us, actually. She says we keep them on their toes, and that we should do this again.”

“That’s good,” Laurel says, fanning herself with her racket. It isn’t the most effective way to cool herself off, but it’s been a hot summer so far, and doesn’t show any sign of cooling down.

She’s grateful for her superpowered air conditioning back at the house, and she finds herself daydreaming about turning it on when they get home.

But first, it’s time for shower and lunch.

“My family has money, but not country club money,” Michaela says, looking around as they head to the showers. “I mean, damn.”

“My mom loved the local country club, but my dad isn’t much of a golf person, or a tennis person, and so he’d said the only reason to go was to sit around drinking, and he could do that in the comfort of his own home,” Laurel offers up, inviting judgment.

Michaela hasn’t really inquired about Laurel’s family money—the most she does is mention the fact that Laurel’s got expensive taste, and acknowledge the money that comes through from Laurel’s dad every month.

Half that money goes to local shelters Laurel sometimes volunteers at, but she hasn’t exactly told her dad that, so she doesn’t want to mention it to her wife either.

“Hmm,” Michaela says, and opens up the door for Laurel to walk through, and then closes it behind herself.

Laurel opens her locker, and strips down, grabbing her things and heading for the shower.

She catches a brief glimpse of Michaela, and averts her eyes.

It’s kind of weird to look at your wife when she’s naked, when she’s only your wife to keep you out of prison.

~~

Kurt sits there and reads while Diana rambles on excitedly about the game, and then how they should do this all of the time.

Having already been briefed, Laurel just smiles when Michaela commits them to a game two weeks from today.

“You know, I had an idea for that case you’re working on,” Michaela says, and Diana looks mildly interested.

“Why don’t we take a walk, and you can tell me about it,” Diana says with a smile.

This leaves Laurel quietly drinking her mimosa while Michaela schmoozes her boss.

Laurel can’t help but smile at Michaela.

She’s good at this.

Laurel’s interning with an environmental law firm, just to see if it’s a little less dramatic than criminal law.

She’s not even really sure if she likes it.

Her dad imagines her as a high-powered defense attorney, but Laurel’s always imagined herself making a difference.

Then again, she’s got blood on her hands, and not just from the man she killed.

Maybe she should just give in.

Michaela certainly seems happy enough, and Laurel needs to stop pretending that she’s any better than she actually is.

This is her life now—married to Michaela, who certainly doesn’t have any qualms about doing whatever she has to do in order to succeed.

And the truth is, Laurel’s done much worse things than Michaela.

Maybe this is who she is.

~~

Laurel and Michaela go through a lot of beer and wine, and orange juice(they like weekend mimosas, okay, sue them).

They also burn through a hell of a lot of television, because it’s summertime, and although it won’t last forever, it feels like they’ve got all the time in the world.

“You know, I never realized how annoying Ross is,” Michaela says in the midst of their Friends marathon. “He’s kind of the worst.”

Laurel snaps her fingers. “That’s what I was forgetting,” she says, and she grabs the notebook that houses their TV and movie ideas. “We have to watch You’re the Worst.”

Michaela gives her a look, and then just laughs. “I feel like we’re supposed to be doing something more productive,” Michaela says.

“We read law books in our free time, I think we’re allowed to allocate at least some time toward actually enjoying ourselves,” Laurel says with a shrug.

She tosses the notebook back on the table, and then leans back. “Man, I hate laugh tracks.”

“Me too,” Michaela says.

They sit in silence for a moment, and then Laurel turns to look at Michaela.

“You’re the Worst doesn’t have a laugh track,” she says, and Michaela rolls her eyes.

“Fine,” she says, waving her hand. “Go ahead.”

Honestly, besides the nostalgia factor, it’s kind of irritating waiting for the Chandler and Monica arc to begin, and that’s easily the best part of the entire TV show.

And that’s why they’re not supposed to decide to watch a ten season show while drunk.

“I feel like we should add that to our list of rules,” Laurel says.

“Then we’d have to have an official list,” Michaela points out, and Laurel watches as her face lights up. “I could laminate the list.”

“And frame it,” Laurel says, but she’s joking.

“Absolutely,” Michaela says, and she’s not.

~~

None of the rules on the list are the super important ones—like who does grocery shopping, and who cleans what, and how to respect each other’s space.

No, these are the  _special_  rules.

Like, don’t commit to watching ten seasons of a show while drunk.

Or, #4: If you finish the bottle of wine, you have to actually get up and grab another bottle.

Michaela’s pretty sneaky about that one—she’ll leave only a tiny bit of wine in the bottle, and Laurel will pour it and look at it disappointedly, and then sigh before getting up.

“I feel like we need to amend rule #4,” Laurel says. “You have to actually be able to fill up more than a water bottle cap full of wine for it to actually count.”

Michaela just smiles serenely, innocently.

Laurel is reaching for the next bottle of wine and tipsily searching for the corkscrew, which they’re always losing, when it hits her.

This is  _nice_.

If this is her life now, then it’s actually pretty damn great.

She’s getting along with Michaela, which means she’s got a built-in friend, drinking buddy, and television friend.

Laurel looks over at Michaela, who is staring at the show that’s still playing, and she feels a little frozen in the moment.

Frank was wrong, she thinks.

She’s not going to end up pregnant, with some husband she hates, and she’s not going to give up law.

She’s married to Michaela, and they’re both going to be high-powered attorneys.

It occurs to her now to wonder about babies, and the logistics of the rest of their marriage.

When you’re only a year into law school, and you’re marrying to avoid prison, you’re not really thinking about having kids, or how any of that might work out.

Laurel watches as Michaela laughs at a joke the show makes, and wonders if that’s going to be a problem.

~~

“Were you serious about wanting a dog?” Laurel asks a few days later.

Michaela looks up from a stack of case files from her internship. “A dog?” She wrinkles her nose. “When did I say I wanted a dog?”

“When we first moved in together,” Laurel reminds her.

“Oh,” Michaela laughs. “I was just imagining getting a dog so that I could get it to chew on your shoes and pee on everything you loved.”

“What the hell, Michaela?” Laurel gives her a look. “So do you want a dog, or—?”

Michaela takes a moment to think. “Not really. Dogs are cute, but they’re a lot of work, and once law school starts up again, we’re not going to be home for most of the day. That’s kind of . . . lonely.”

“And messy,” Laurel says. “Since we don’t have a fence that would actually keep a dog in, they’d have to stay inside, and—“

Michaela makes a face. “Yeah, so no on the dog. Maybe a fish though.”

“Do you want to have kids?” Laurel asks suddenly.

She had this whole plan about working her way up to it, but instead the words just come tumbling out.

“Uhh-“ Michaela tilts her head to the side, and her jaw drops open a little. “I don’t know. Do you?”

Laurel frowns. “I don’t know either.”

Michaela shrugs. “We’ll figure it out later. I—“ she clears her throat, like she’s not entirely sure she wants to say what she says next. “I always thought I’d adopt, if I did decide to have kids.”

Laurel softens. “That sounds like a great idea,” she says, and Michaela gives her the kind of smile that melts her insides.

“Well, there we go,” Michaela says. “Neither one of us is sure, and if we do decide that we do, then we’ll probably adopt. Conflict resolved.”

“It wasn’t really a conflict,” Laurel points out.

“It wasn’t really a conflict,” Michaela says in her little mocking voice, but there’s no heat to it, no underlying resentment that Laurel can read.

It’s weird to plan a future with someone you aren’t in love with.

Somehow, Laurel hadn’t imagined anything but a marriage for love, and yet here she is.

She wonders what Michaela imagined, but she’s not sure she’s all that interested in hearing the truth.

~~

“Closer together,” Michaela instructs Laurel. “We’re looking for thin slices, not giant chunks.”

Laurel tries to slice closer together, and focuses on not slicing off the tips of her fingers.

She cooks for herself, but she’s not much of a vegetable chopper.

“When I was younger, my grandmother made me the official vegetable rinser,” Laurel tells Michaela. “I couldn’t be trusted with a knife.”

“Good to know,” Michaela says with a smile. “But you’re still not getting out of chopping the celery."

Michaela, on the other hand, gets to handle the meat, because she actually knows what she’s doing.

In fact, that’s exactly what Michaela had said to Laurel before they’d even started.

Michaela hands Laurel some carrots. “Now start on the carrots.”

There’s something relaxing about chopping, but Laurel has an inkling that it’s going to get old pretty fast.

Laurel shakes out her wrist, because she’s swears she's been chopping for twenty minutes straight.

“Hey!” Michaela says. “We don’t wave around knives in this house, especially with our track record.”

Laurel bites her lip, and tries not to laugh.

Michaela tries to give her a stern look, like she’s very serious.

And hey, she is.

They both burst out laughing, and Laurel feels oddly at peace.

Michaela shakes her head. “Anyway,” she says, “There’s this end of the summer party for all the interns to do some last minute schmoozing with the partners, and Diana said I’m supposed to bring you, so if you want to go, then you can.”

Michaela’s looking down at shredded chicken instead of at Laurel, but she’s not actually doing anything to it.

Laurel’s been watching Michaela, and when she wants something and she’s not embarrassed about it, she’ll look you straight in the eye and demand it. But when she wants something, but doesn’t want to admit to it, she won’t even look at you.

This is also how Laurel discovered Michaela’s obsession with watching cooking shows, the fact that she wanted to buy kitten shaped salt and pepper shakers, and that she wanted to go to the end of the summer carnival, which Laurel is still dreading.

Because, of course, she’d offered to go with Michaela, because no one else would.

“Sure,” Laurel says. “Just let me know when it is, and I’ll make time for it. We have one of those too, but I think I might skip it. Environmental law is full of miserable people, or idealistic people who won’t stop talking your ear off about how they, and only they, seem to know what the biggest problem facing our world is today.”

“You hate them,” Michaela says with a smirk. “You should have taken the other offer.”

Laurel wants to argue, but she can’t. “At least I’m  _sure_  that I hate them now. It’s not that they’re not doing important work. It’s just not for me. And I only have to get through two more weeks.”

“True,” Michaela says. “You’re chopping the carrots too big,” she sighs. “Give me your hands.”

Laurel lets Michaela take control and show her exactly how she wants things.

Michaela has a thing about control, but Laurel remembers the conversations she’d overheard when Michaela was briefly dating Levi. She’s also got a thing about the loss of control, and Laurel is . . . curious.

For now, however, she’s going to focus on chopping the damn carrots so that Michaela will stop watching every move that she makes.

~~

When Michaela had asked her to attend the party in her backwards way, Laurel had expected a certain amount of play-acting.

She’d been expecting that they’d be pretending to act like a couple.

Michaela, apparently, had not.

“Shit,” Michaela whispers under her breath. “I didn’t think this through.”

Obviously not, Laurel thinks, but she doesn’t say it. Laurel loops her arm around Michaela’s. “We’re fine,” she says. “Most people aren’t into PDA at law firm parties anyway,” she mock whispers.

Michaela is a little jittery, and she’s smiling so broadly it looks like her cheeks must hurt from the force of it.

“Relax,” Laurel says.

Diana chooses that moment to walk up to them. “Oh, Laurel, it’s so good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Laurel says with a smile, and Diana goes in for a partial hug.

Laurel lets go of Michaela, and watches as Michaela searches for all the exits and contemplates an escape.

“Michaela was just talking about how much she loved it here.”

Diana smiles broadly, and turns to pull in Michaela for a hug, cutting off her attempt at an escape.

Sometimes, Michaela just needs a little push.

“Yes, we were,” Michaela says through gritted teeth and a smile, with a warning look at Laurel.

Laurel just smirks back.

Michaela’s having a fake gay freakout, because they haven’t had to be a couple in front of a group this big(besides, of course, their wedding), and Laurel’s not going to let that screw up her connection with Diana Valdes, who has the power to seriously benefit Michaela’s career.

“I was just thinking that we should find a way to keep in touch,” Diana says. “You’re still green, but you have potential.”

“Thank you,” Michaela says, and this time her smile is all real, happy and relieved.

Michaela knows that she’s good, but it’s always nice to be told.

“Do you mind if I steal Michaela away from you for a moment?” Diana asks, and Laurel shakes her head.

“Not at all,” she waves them off. “I’m just going to head to the bar.”

She watches as Diana talks animatedly with Michaela, and it’s clear that this is her element.

Laurel’s never felt more alive than when she was keeping the murder group together after Sam died, and she’s not sure what that says about her.

Apparently, she’s got a thing about murder and secrets.

Maybe, in fact, this is where she belongs too.

“You must be Michaela’s wife,” Laurel hears behind her and she turns to find some guy holding out his hand.

She shakes it. “Yes, I’m Laurel,” she says with a polite smile.

“I’m a friend of Michaela’s,” he says. “David Miller,” he tells her, and Laurel takes him in.

He’s hot.

“She’s amazing,” David tells her. “We were both assigned to Diana, and I have never seen someone so willing to do whatever it takes.”

He’s clearly got a crush on her wife, and that causes only the mildest twinge.

It’s a weird situation, that’s all.

“She’s definitely amazing,” Laurel says, and looks around for the bar, so that she can start drinking.

You’re not exactly supposed to pregame before this kind of party, which is just too bad, because David looks like he wants to make small talk.

“You know, I totally didn’t even realize she was married at first, since she wears the ring around her neck.”

They’d agreed to both do that, in case they met someone that they wanted to date, and they didn’t want to scare them off with a wedding ring.

Laurel fingers her own ring underneath the material of her dress. “Yeah, we like to keep it private.”

“Yeah,” David says, scrutinizing her, like she’s hiding some kind of secret, and he wants to figure it out.

None of her secrets are open for discussion with him, and so she opens her mouth to politely distance herself from him, when he speaks suddenly. “She doesn’t give off a vibe, you know,” David continues.

The polite smile fades right from her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She tries to avoid sounding defensive, and aims for neutral and isn’t sure quite where she lands.

“She just doesn’t seem gay,” David says, and Laurel fights to avoid rolling her eyes.

"There’s no such thing as ‘seeming gay’ unless someone is literally wearing a shirt that says ‘hey, I’m gay’ so—“ She forces herself to smile, but she’s pretty sure she looks like she wants to rip his head off, so it’s not exactly taking any of the sting out of her words.

“I didn’t mean to offend you—“ David says.

“Of course not,” Laurel says. “Anyway, I was looking for the bar, do you think you could direct me to it?”

David points, and Laurel turns on her heel and heads directly towards it as quickly as she can manage, hoping that he won’t try to follow her and keep making conversation.

She’s not even sure why she’s so irritated, besides the weird assumptions the guy is making.

She feels faintly jealous, and she’s not sure why.

It’s not like she has romantic feelings for Michaela, but she certainly doesn’t want David to sit around hitting on her every day.

He’s the type, she can tell.

It’s an odd sensation, and one she intends to mask with vodka.

“Laurel,” Michaela says, sliding up to her at the bar while she waits for her drink. “Diana offered me a part-time gig during the school year. She thinks I have real potential. They never do that for law students who haven’t even started their second year yet. I can’t believe this.”

Michaela’s practically glowing.

“That’s amazing,” Laurel says, and she’s genuinely happy for her.

She’s about to give her a friendly hug when David decides to come up to them.

“Michaela, hey,” David says, and Laurel scowls at him, and turns to take her glass from the bartender.

“Hey,” Michaela says, and Laurel can’t tell if she’s nervous because she likes him, or because he likes her. Then, Michaela rolls her eyes when David looks down to straighten his tie.

Laurel switches her glass to her right hand, and reaches out her left to take Michaela’s hand in her own.

Michaela gives her a strange look at the display, but then turns back to David. “We should probably make the rounds,” she says apologetically.

“Of course,” David says, but he sounds disappointed.

They always are, Laurel thinks.

They walk away from David, still holding hands until they’re out of sight, and then Laurel drops Michaela’s hand.

Michaela looks like she wants to say something, but then she doesn’t, and introduces Laurel to someone instead.

~~

When they get home, Laurel takes off her heels while Michaela takes off her coat.

“What was that weird display with David about?” Michaela asks.

“Nothing,” Laurel replies. “He seemed like he had a thing for you, and he’s kind of—“

“An asshole?” Michaela supplies, and Laurel looks over at her and nods.

Laurel sinks into a comfy chair.

“He’s been flirting with me all summer, but besides the fact that he thinks I’m hot, he’s been trying to trip me up, get under my skin,” Michaela tells her, and then lies down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“Did he succeed?” Laurel asks.

“Hell no,” Michaela says with a smile. “I’ve got a continuing relationship with the firm, and he’ll be lucky if they even take his calls next year.”

“Good,” Laurel says, leaning back her head and closing her eyes.

“Please don’t fall asleep in the chair again,” Michaela says then. “Last time you drooled all over it.”

“I do not drool,” Laurel says, sitting up and opening her eyes.

“You do,” Michaela says with a smirk. She scrunches up her nose. “And I’m not cleaning it up this time.”

“I don’t drool,” Laurel says again.

Michaela gets up. “If you say so,” she says, wandering over to her bedroom.

“You snore,” Laurel says, and Michaela looks back at her.

“I do not,” Michaela says, and she looks offended. “And even if I did, snoring doesn’t leave evidence on the chair.”

Laurel just gives her a look, and Michaela smiles and shakes her head. “Goodnight, Laurel,” she says before shutting her door behind herself.

“Goodnight,” Laurel says softly.

~~

Laurel makes French toast for breakfast on the day of the carnival, because it’s her favorite. Today is going to be a good day, or so she's decided. 

“That smells like heaven,” Michaela says with a smile, walking into the kitchen. 

Laurel hands her a plate, and Michaela takes it with a nod of thanks.

She looks blissful, which is strange considering that classes start up again in two days.

But it’s not Laurel’s job to rain on her parade—though, from her experience with her parents, that does seem to be what spouses like to do.

They’ve actually got more classes together, but Laurel’s trying not to be overly excited about that.

It’s always good to have a built-in study buddy, and it’s hard to argue with the logic of studying with your roommate/wife.

Michaela moans after taking a bite of her breakfast, and Laurel gets a happy twinge in her chest and a tightness in her stomach. “Phenomenal,” Michaela says, and Laurel smiles happily.

“We should watch Parks and Recreation next,” Laurel suggests. “There’s a character who’s like ‘why would anyone ever eat anything other than breakfast?’ and I feel like I identify with that.”

“Oh, I love that show,” Michaela says.

“I was beginning to think all you’d ever watched were cooking shows and bad reality TV.”

“Hey, don’t trash Big Brother,” Michaela says, holding up her fork. “I saw you  _just so happen_  to be in the living room whenever I was watching it, and pretending not to watch it over your laptop.”

“You have no proof,”  Laurel says. Playfully arguing with Michaela is fun, and relaxing, and it makes her feel a little less alone.

Laurel’s family is huge, but she’s never been very good at connecting with most of them outside of her grandmother and one of her cousins.

But this is something new, and different.

Laurel switches off the stove, and brings her plate over to the island, and drowns her French toast in syrup.

Michaela’s eyes widen. “Damn, Laurel.”

Laurel’s got a sugar problem, and she’s not proud of it, but if she wants to overdo it on syrup, then that’s exactly what she’s going to do. Laurel starts eating, and Michaela just watches her, occasionally offering a comment.

“Can you even taste the cinnamon at this point, or is it all just maple syrup?” Michaela asks, and Laurel shakes her head.

“You know, I think it’d be faster if you just drank straight from the bottle,” Michaela suggests, and Laurel rolls her eyes.

“Have you ever considered taking out stock in Aunt Jemima, or did your parents already do that after they discovered your problem?”

Laurel laughs, and then takes the last bite of her breakfast.

Michaela frowns at her.

“You’ve got some,” Michaela points all around her face, as if Laurel’s covered in it.

“I doubt that,” Laurel says.

“You do though, just a little, on your cheek,” Michaela points, and Laurel wipes at it with a napkin.

Michaela’s still frowning. She reaches forward over the island, getting incredibly close to Laurel’s face, and she scrubs at Laurel’s face determinedly. “It’s the stickiness that’s the problem,” Michaela says, and Laurel just freezes, halfway afraid to move, and not sure why.

Michaela pulls away, and grabs her plate and walks around the island over to the sink. She rinses her plate off while Laurel just sits there, pretending like she’s totally fine.

Which, of course, she has no reason not to be.

“Ready for the carnival?” Michaela asks. She's trying to sound calm, but Laurel can see and hear Michaela's excitement. She's practically vibrating with it.

Laurel can already tell that this is going to be a long day.

~~

“I kind of want a stuffed animal,” Michaela says, staring at the prizes. “But I’m also really bad at ring tosses.”

Laurel doesn’t even hesitate. She pulls out her wallet and hands money to the guy behind the counter.

“Do I have to win it, or can I just—“ Laurel starts to ask, but then Michaela makes a face.

“You have to win it, obviously,” Michaela says, putting a hand over her heart dramatically. “Or else we don’t deserve it.”

Laurel smiles, because she’s pretty sure she’d be better off buying a toy store than trying to win Michaela a stuffed animal.

Laurel hands over the first set of rings. “You go first,” she says. “If you want a stuffed animal, then you have to help.”

Michaela gives her a  _look_ —that look she gets when she’s pretending like she knows what she’s doing, like she’s totally got this.

Three throws later, she hasn’t hit a single one, which means she hasn’t even won a small prize, let alone a giant stuffed animal.

“I think it’s rigged,” Michaela says softly, right near Laurel’s ear.

“Isn’t everything?” Laurel asks. She narrows her eyes, trying to focus.

She throws the first ring, and completely misses.

She throws the second, and then the third, and then contemplates just buying Michaela a toy store.

She’s kidding, mostly.

Michaela starts her second turn, and she’s changed her plan of attack—instead of careful, calculated throws, she’s throwing wildly, with abandon, and she doesn’t look like she’s even trying to aim.

She looks happy though, which is the entire point of this day.

That, Laurel thinks, is enough.

~~

Laurel wins Michaela a keychain in the shape of a panda, and Michaela takes it solemnly, like Laurel has given her solid gold or something.

Laurel raises an eyebrow, and Michaela haughtily replies. “I happen to like keychains.”

“It’s not exactly a stuffed animal,” Laurel points out, following Michaela to the next game she wants to play.

This one has water guns, and since you play against other customers, someone always has to win.

Michaela pays for them both to play a round of the game, and slides the keychain into her purse.

Of course, the reward for this game is apparently cotton candy, and Laurel gets a little hyperactive when she’s had too much sugar.

“I’m going to win you some cotton candy,” Michaela announces, and it’s sweet, really.

This is all fun and games, and it shouldn’t be serious or sad at all.

Laurel puts her finger on the trigger of the water gun, and she freezes.

She’s fine, she’s fine.

The game starts, and Laurel’s not even shooting the water through the little hoop. She can’t even get herself to push the button.

It’s just a water gun.

It’s not real.

“I’m sorry,” Michaela says, coming up beside her, having already abandoned her own gun. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Laurel assures her. “It’s just a game, I’m just being—“ she wants to play it off like it's nothing, but she still can’t make herself move.

Michaela places her hands over Laurel’s, and gently removes them from the gun, holding them in her own. “You’re just being human,” Michaela says, and draws her away from the crowd.

They can’t exactly talk about guns and murder at a carnival, and so Michaela moves to try to make her leave the grounds.

“No,” Laurel says, shaking her head. “I’m fine. I just had a weird moment, I’m not going to freak out again.”

Michaela’s looking at her like she doesn’t believe her, and she’s not sure whether or not to humor her and play along.

“Please,” Laurel says, pulling her hands out of Michaela’s. “Let’s go on the Ferris wheel.”

She can see the doubt in Michaela’s eyes, because part of her wants to believe Laurel, and part of her knows she shouldn’t.

“I want to ride the Ferris wheel,” Laurel says firmly, because she knows that’s what Michaela’s been looking forward to, because apparently she’s not big on roller coasters. She likes simple rides, slow and steady, and calm.

Laurel’s always been a fast, hard, high kind of roller coaster person, so it’s probably a good idea for them to never go to a theme park together.

“If you’re sure,” Michaela says hesitantly, and that’s all it takes for Laurel to grab Michaela’s hand and pull her off to find the line for the ride.

Laurel’s trying to shake it off, trying not to think about her finger on the trigger, but she can’t seem to figure out how.

Michaela’s hand is still in her own, and Michaela’s not letting go, so Laurel doesn’t either.

When it’s their turn, she lets go, and instantly feels the loss of warmth and comfort.

Laurel hates this—hates the weakness she feels, the fear that’s consuming her.

This is not the person she’s supposed to be.

She’s not supposed to be unsure, or confused, or weak, or fearful.

This isn’t the woman she’s been trying to become all of her life. This isn’t Laurel Castillo, the girl who ran for class president because one of the other candidates tried to sabotage her campaign for class treasurer.

She’s the girl who doesn’t do things by half, who betrays her friends to protect them, who shoots the murderer to keep him from continuing to kill.

When it’s finally their turn to be at the very top of the Ferris wheel, Michaela turns to her.

Laurel’s afraid to meet her eyes, because she doesn’t know what she’s going to see.

She’s afraid of pity, of resentment, of some sign that Michaela feels trapped.

“Laurel,” Michaela says patiently, with more kindness than Laurel thinks she deserves. “Look at me.”

Laurel doesn’t look, just keeps facing forward.

“Laurel,” Michaela says again. “Look. At. Me.”

Laurel looks.

“I’m here for you,” Michaela says. “I just want you to know that.”

Maybe it’s the moment, or the words, or the stress of the carnival, or the fact that it’s a bright, beautiful day, but Laurel has the sudden urge to kiss Michaela.

It sort of stuns her, and she looks away quickly, as fast as she can.

“Thank you,” Laurel replies stiffly.

~~

They play a few more games, and Michaela eats five caramel covered apples, because apparently she’s got a sugar problem too.

Laurel eyes the stuffed bear that Michaela had wanted to win earlier in the day, and when Michaela heads off to the bathroom before they get in the car to go, Laurel just buys it from the guy who is there.

He’s a teenager, so it’s not that hard to bribe him, and it’s definitely cheaper than trying to win the damn thing.

She carries the giant bear to the car to meet Michaela.

Michaela takes one look at it and laughs, and takes it from Laurel, hugging it tightly.

“Thank you, Laurel,” she says sincerely, and there’s a warmth in Laurel’s chest that’s spreading throughout her entire body.

If it weren’t for the fact that Laurel is currently battling the realization that she’s actually attracted to her sort of fake wife, she’d probably make excuses about that—like she’s coming down with a cold, or she’s been hit by a stray summer breeze.

Instead, she gets in the damn car.

~~

Vulnerability does not come easily to Laurel.

Realizing that she has feelings for Michaela is frustrating—attraction is just physical, she argues, just a desire borne of spending too much time together.

Physical proximity breeds a false sense of intimacy.

This, at least, is what she tells herself.

In the meantime, Michaela wants to have a dinner party.

She’s pretty excited at the idea of it, talking about all the food she wants to make, and all the recipes that her mother suggested.

Laurel’s trying to focus on the beginning of the school year, and the fact that she’s refocusing her attention on an area that is both more comfortable and more dangerous for her.

Michaela feels like she’s on top of the world. She’s talking a mile a minute about everything from school to her dinner party plans, to the new seasons of their shows starting up soon.

She’s happy, practically glowing.

Laurel can’t stop watching her.

She’s gorgeous, and that’s definitely part of the problem, but the bigger part is that she’s straight as hell, and Laurel’s completely lost her mind, because there’s no way that Michaela would go for her, even if it were a good idea to make a move on her fake wife.

“What?” Michaela asks then, cocking her head to the side. “What’s wrong?”

Laurel shakes her head, and fakes a smile. “Just thinking about homework,” she lies, and Michaela nods in understanding.

Laurel’s always been a good liar, and it seems like she’s going to be doing a lot of it in the near future.

~~

Laurel loves criminal law.

She hates herself a little for it, for what it says about her, and how dark and twisty she is inside—just like her dad, it seems.

She should be ashamed of that, but the older she gets, and the worse things twist and turn around her, the more she isn’t.

There’s a surprising amount of lying in law, considering that the point of the entire justice system is to provide fairness and truth.

Or, at least, that’s what people seem to think.

The truth is that it’s all about gaming the system, all about using the law to control outcomes.

That’s why she’s married to Michaela, after all.

Attraction to Michaela feels like it should be a fluke, and so Laurel decides to treat it like one.

Michaela’s cooking, and Laurel’s cleaning up behind her. It’s important to share the load, after all, and Michaela’s a much better cook than she is.

“Mm, my mother has outdone herself with this new recipe,” Michaela says, and swipes a bit more of the sauce for their spaghetti and lifts the spoon up to Laurel.

Laurel tastes it, and briefly flickers back in her brain to the last time someone tried to feed her spaghetti sauce.

Frank, she thinks.

This must all be about Frank. She must secretly resent him for leaving or something.

She tries to think about Frank, and about what he means to her, tries to summon the feelings she used to have for him, and she comes up with nothing.

She’s over him, and Michaela is looking at her expectantly, waiting for some kind of opinion on her mom’s new sauce recipe, which she’s contemplating including in her next cookbook.

“Well?” Michaela says impatiently.

“It’s amazing,” Laurel says. “I literally forgot how to think for a moment.”

Michaela looks like she doesn’t quite believe her, but she shrugs and goes back to stirring.

Laurel just watches her for a moment.

Whatever this is, it’s real, and it’s not about Frank.

Laurel has an overwhelming urge to kiss Michaela, and she scrubs at a pot until the desire passes.

That’s the plan, anyway, but it doesn’t subside, and instead she scrubs until dinner’s done, and Laurel can distract herself with something else.

Michaela’s abnormally quiet, and Laurel thinks that’s because she is too, and so they simply sit and watch their shows, barely speaking more than to decide on the order they’ll watch them in.

~~

This is not the status quo.

Laurel isn’t going to ruin one of the best friendships she's ever had over some nonsense crush.

Laurel’s just not going to act on the feeling. She’s an adult, and adults feel attracted to people all the time, and no one is ever the wiser, because they never act on it.

Laurel is practical, and she’s always been good at knowing exactly who she and what she wants, and making that into a reality.

She’s been conflicted lately—taking the wrong internship offer, because she’d wanted a simpler life, had been a mistake.

She knows who she is.

Michaela is her wife, but she’s also the closest thing that Laurel has to a best friend. She’s usually the bookend of her day, the first person she talks to, and the last.

There’s something comforting about that.

And so she pretends.

“I’m finishing up the grocery list,” Laurel says while Michaela studies. “Do you want me to add anything?”

Michaela looks up. “How about a personality adjustment? You’ve been acting really weird,” she looks back down at her textbook.

“I’m not weird,” Laurel says. “Just busy.”

“Mmhmm,” Michaela clearly doesn’t believe her, but arguing with her about it is just going to make her more sure that there’s something going on.

“I’m going,” Laurel says, grabbing her list and her purse. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

Michaela softens and her lips curve up slightly in a smile, and Laurel melts. “No, I’m fine. It’s all already on the list.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t look up, because Laurel’s feelings are all over her face, plain as day for anyone who can even remotely read people.

~~

Michaela is excited about something.

Laurel thinks they’ve gotten to the point in their friendship where they’d tell each other good news, so this must be something Michaela’s also conflicted about.

It’s not hard to figure out that Michaela’s dating someone, or thinking about dating someone.

Laurel doesn’t appreciate the pang in her heart she gets at that realization, but she doesn’t have any kind of claim on Michaela. At least, no claim that’s real, or substantial, or that means anything.

“Who’s the guy?” Laurel asks while Michaela hmms and hahs at her closet.

Laurel’s on her bed, and she’s supposed to be giving Michaela advice for an outfit for the event they have to go to one of their classes, but from the nerves Michaela is exuding, it’s clear she’s planning a date.

Michaela looks sideways at her, hands clenched together. “What? No, I—“ she’s going into lawyer Michaela mode.

“You like someone,” Laurel cuts in. “You’re bringing him to the party, or you’re thinking about inviting him. You’re an open book, Michaela.”

Michaela wrinkles her nose, like she resents that, and Laurel doesn’t blame her. She would too.

It doesn’t stop it from being true most of the time.

“It’s Caleb,” Michaela says, turning back to her closet, for which Laurel is grateful.

For a split second, Laurel thinks she must look like she’s been punched in the gut, but she quickly covers.

“Caleb Hapstall? Damn, ‘Chaela. You work slow,” Laurel teases, because it’s easier than dealing with the thumping in her chest.

“He had a lot to deal with,” Michaela says. “I did too. I mean, you and I—“ she hesitates. “I hadn’t spoken to him in months, but then we ran into each other last week, and we got coffee, and, well—“ she looks back at Laurel, with a smug look on her face. “You know how it goes. We’re all flirty and fun. And I need that, desperately. And I’ll only have to lie about half as much stuff as I would with almost everyone else.” She closes her eyes and looks relieved, and almost content. “I don’t think I could ask for more.”

Laurel expects a rush of jealousy, and while there’s some at the edges of her feelings, she can’t help but be happy for Michaela.

It isn’t as if Michaela will ever turn to her, and so at the very least, she’d like her to be happy.

This thing with her own feelings for Michaela is like a cold she hasn’t quite managed to kick anyway.

It just takes time, sometimes, and Laurel’ll will eventually get over it. 

“So are you guys going together?” Laurel asks, her tone as even as she can make it.

“It’s in two days, and I haven’t asked him yet.” Michaela’s back to aimlessly going through her closet.

“Ask him now,” Laurel encourages her. “The longer you wait, the better the chance he’ll say no, because he’s got other plans.”

Michaela hesitates, and Laurel picks Michaela’s phone up from her bedside table, unplugging it from the charger.

She swipes Michaela’s password, because she’s seen her do it enough times, and she quickly clicks on the contacts, and presses the call button near Caleb’s name.

She hands out the phone, “Here,” Laurel says, and Michaela whirls around, panic growing in her eyes.

“What the hell, Laurel?” Michaela asks, but she takes the phone nevertheless. “Hi, Caleb. It’s Michaela, I was wondering if you happened to have any plans on Friday?”

Laurel wanders over to Michaela’s closet and pulls out a dress, lays it on her bed, and then lets herself out of Michaela’s room. She catches sight of the giant bear before she shuts the door, and it's a little like a stab to the heart. 

She can handle the slight matchmaking, but she’s not going to torture herself by sitting through Michaela's whole conversation with Caleb.

~~

Michaela brings Caleb to the party, and even wears the dress that Laurel suggested.

Laurel, on the other hand, leaves early for the party so that she can avoid having to carpool with them.

She’s apparently a glutton for punishment, but she has her limits too.

The first thing she does when she gets there is make a beeline for the bar.

Wes is already there, and Laurel wishes she could be surprised.

“No date,” Wes says, and Laurel nods.

“I just don’t have the patience for dating anymore,” Laurel says.

“Well, you are married,” Wes says with a laugh.

Laurel rolls her eyes. “It’s not that, Wes. I’m just trying to feel normal again.”

“Is not dating normal for you?” Wes asks. “Because it’s pretty normal for me, which is why I’m standing here, trying to will the desire to network with any of these people.” He waves his hand at the crowd, and Laurel doesn’t blame him.

“I’ll be your professional wingwoman,” Laurel says. “Or, we can be each other’s, and it’ll only be half as awful.”

Wes shrugs. “I guess it’s better than doing it alone.”

Laurel feels a rush of regret at not keeping in touch with Wes as well as she should have. They talk sometimes, and every once in a while they see each other, but they’re both busy.

Laurel resolves to fix this, immediately.

Laurel’s never alone, because she always has Michaela.

And Michaela is a good friend, underneath all of the weird feelings that Laurel is having for her.

Wes doesn’t have that. He doesn’t have anyone built into his life, and Laurel knows that he’s got some weird relationship with Annalise, and he’s quasi-friends with Connor, but Laurel’s always had his back.

And now, she’s going to have it again.

~~

Two hours later, when they come across Michaela and Caleb, Laurel’s a little tipsy, since she’s had a glass of champagne in her hand all night. “And this is my wife and her date,” Laurel mock introduces them.

She’s smiling, so that she doesn’t seem jealous.

This isn’t weird at all, she says over and over again in her mind, like a mantra.

Wes looks at her sideways, and she’s pretty sure he senses that something is wrong.

Wes has always been an observant guy, it’s one of the things they have in common.

“It’s nice to see you two again under . . . better circumstances,” Caleb says, and Laurel just smiles and nods.

“Definitely better than you going down for a murder you didn’t commit,” Laurel says lightly.

“You know, Caleb,” Michaela cuts in, trying to defuse some of the awkwardness. “Laurel and I were just talking the other day about having a dinner party soon. You should come.”

“Just let me know when, and I’ll be there,” Caleb says, looking down at Michaela with the kind of smile that screams that he really does like her.

He’s a little blinded by the shine of Michaela, of how intensely beautiful and strong she can be, but if he digs deep enough, he’ll find a reason to love her with ease.

Michaela turns to Wes. “And you, of course, are invited. It’s kind of hard not to invite you, considering.”

“Ah, yes, considering,” Wes says, nodding his head and trying to hide a smile.

“I need champagne,” Laurel announces, trying to find a way out of this conversation.

The three of them zero in on her glass, which is still half full. She downs it quickly, which is really not a great approach with champagne. “See,” she says. “I knew I was going to do that. I’ll see you guys later,” she says, hoping she won’t.

She twirls on her heel, and grabs Wes’s shoulder, dragging him along with her.

“Well, that wasn’t awkward at all,” Wes says wryly. “Except, you know, that it was. What was that about, exactly?”

Laurel grabs another glass of champagne and shrugs, looking around the room for someone important they haven’t schmoozed yet. “I think we’re out of important people. I think it’s time to go home.”

Wes is still looking at her, all firm and steady. “Laurel,” he says patiently. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Laurel says. “I was just trying not to infringe on Caleb and Michaela’s date. I’m a polite wife like that.”

Wes smiles. “Yeah, that’s what everyone’s looking for in a spouse. Someone who won’t interrupt their dates with other people.”

“It’s not like it’s real,” Laurel says, taking a long gulp of her champagne and wincing.

Wes is studying her carefully now, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to figure her out.

Laurel points a finger at him. “You, stop trying to figure me out.”

Wes’s eyes widen. “You like her.”

Laurel snorts, which just goes to show how much she’s had to drink.

“I don’t like Michaela,” Laurel says patiently, as if she’s talking to a three year old, which isn’t fair, because she  _does_  like her.

She did promise that she was going to be a better friend to Wes though.

Maybe she’ll start that tomorrow.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because Wes is smiling at her knowingly, like he’s got her pegged. And he does.

“That is so weird,” Wes says, shaking his head. “You’re screwed.”

“Thanks,” Laurel says sarcastically. “That’s really helpful, Wes.”

She looks around and sighs.

“You should tell her,” Wes says, and that’s not any more helpful than saying that she’s screwed.

“For the humiliation?” Laurel asks. “Because I’m not really in the market for humiliation over a crush.”

Wes shakes his head. “You’ve got it bad, Laurel. And you shouldn’t tell her because she’s going to feel the same way, you should tell her so that you can move on.”

Laurel scrunches up her nose. “And I can’t just move on without the embarrassment? Where’s the fun in that?”

Wes shrugs. “Look, Laurel. It’s up to you. Some people can get over their feelings without the other person ever knowing. But it’s kind of hard to do that when you’re living with the other person though.”

“I’ll be fine,” Laurel says. “Eventually I’ll just be like ‘what crush on Michaela?’”

Wes is looking at her like he thinks she’s wrong, but she doesn’t care.

She knows that this will work. She just needs to adjust her plan. “I’ll avoid her for a while, and get some space.”

Wes still looks like he doesn’t believe it’ll work, and she decides that she needs to try to get him laid.

She should probably get herself laid while she’s at it.

~~

The first flaw in her plan is that Michaela wants to have a dinner party, which means that there’ll be a lot of planning involved.

And so Laurel says no to all of Michaela’s potential dates for it until Michaela looks like she’s ready to bite Laurel’s head off.

“Okay then,” Michaela says, “We’ll just table this discussion for later.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” Laurel says, and she picks up her plate to go off into her room.

“Where do you think you’re going? Our shows are on,” Michaela says, and it’s clear that this is one ritual that Laurel will not be escaping.

Laurel hesitates, then sits down on a couch in the living room, facing the TV.

Michaela sits down near her, but keeps giving her weird looks.

Laurel doesn’t comment on them, because she’s not interested in opening this up into a discussion.

Tomorrow, Laurel will text Michaela that she’ll have to grab a bite to eat on-campus, and she’ll avoid this all together.

Lies upon lies can’t possibly end well, but she doesn’t exactly have a choice.

~~

Michaela does not take Laurel’s plan lying down.

If things were different, Michaela would probably just force Laurel through pure intensity of her will into ceasing her plans, but instead she’s very upfront about it.

“I don’t know why you’re being so weird,” Michaela says, “But you need to get it together. If you’re falling apart, and you need to talk, then I am here for you. But I did not marry you so that you can get yourself thrown in jail because you’re having a crisis of conscience, okay?”

Laurel’s not even remotely considering turning herself in.

“It’s not that,” Laurel says honestly. Now, for the lie. “I’ve just been really busy, and run ragged lately. I’m just trying to get through it.”

Laurel’s on top of all of her schoolwork, and she’s got a spring semester internship lined up, and she’s actually doing pretty well. Her nightmares have pretty much stopped, and the only thing stressing her out is her feelings for Michaela.

Michaela is looking at her right now, searching for some sign of weakness. Finally, her face softens, and she reaches out a hand and puts it on Laurel’s arm. “If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

“Thank you,” Laurel says. Her chest feels tight, and there’s this weird rush of affection, that feels like a little bit more than _like_.

She smashes down hard on this thought.

She can’t avoid Michaela, even if she’d let her. The truth is that she’s come to rely on Michaela’s place in her life, and her friendship, and she doesn’t want to give that up.

This plan has lasted very little time at all, which is probably a good thing, considering that it’s not actually a very good one.

For now, she’ll just fight through it.

As an olive branch, Laurel decides to suggest a date for the dinner party. “If I moved some stuff around, we could do the dinner party two weeks from this Friday,” Laurel suggests.

Michaela’s face lights up. “I knew you were saying no too quickly,” she snaps her fingers. “See, this will be a nice distraction. We’ll invite our friends, have some food, and you’ll feel so much better, I promise you.”

Laurel smiles weakly. “I’m sure that I will.”

In the meantime, it’s time to plan a dinner party.

That, at least, Laurel could do in her sleep.

~~

Laurel’s mother is kind of terrifying when she throws a party, and while Michaela doesn’t exactly come close to that for a mere dinner party, Laurel recognizes the look in her eyes as something that should be feared.

Laurel makes a note to keep her mother and her wife apart, because together they would be a scary force of nature that Laurel isn’t entirely sure anyone could possibly stop.

Everything is literally perfect.

Everyone arrives a little early, but not so early as to cut into dinner preparation time.

Oliver and Connor bring dessert, which was thankfully made by Oliver instead of Connor, who apparently couldn’t bake his way out of a paper bag.

Wes shows up an hour early to help with preparation, because Laurel had briefly mentioned that Michaela was stressed out about it.

He’s sweet, that Wes.

Laurel, on the other hand, has not dipped into the wine yet, but only because Michaela hid all the corkscrews from her.

Laurel’s been chopping and mixing and cleaning for what feels like all day, so she feels like she deserves a reward.

When Caleb shows up with wine, Michaela puts a glass full of wine right into Laurel’s thankful hand.

“Thank you,” Laurel says, lifting her eyes upward and praising Michaela, but also Jesus.

She is not going through this dinner sober, okay?

Michaela brings the last bowl of food to the table and then sits down at the head, Caleb on her left, and Laurel on her right.

“I’m so glad you all could make it,” Michaela says. “I hope you enjoy.”

“This is amazing,” Laurel says after biting into the steak. “I think I just died and went to heaven.”

“It’s really good,” Caleb says, trying to get his own compliment in.

Laurel wants to say it’s not a competition, but hey, maybe it is.

These are her people, and Caleb is an intruder.

He’s also Michaela’s quasi-boyfriend, and so Laurel doesn’t exactly have firm ground to say he doesn’t belong, even though it feels like he doesn’t.

“Thank you,” Michaela says, the gracious host. “Laurel and I worked really hard on it.”

“Michaela did most of the hard work,” Laurel says with a shrug. “I don’t really cook.” She boils broccoli, pasta, pours cereal, and makes French toast. That's about it. 

“She was very helpful,” Michaela says. “As was Wes, who needed very little oversight.”

“I’m good at following directions,” Wes says from beside Laurel with a small smile.

Caleb gives Michaela a smile, and Laurel turns her head toward Wes, searching for some kind of distraction. 

“I’m going to murder someone,” Laurel says under her breath, and Wes laughs.

“I almost choked on my wine, Laurel. Try to save the threats of violence for after dessert,” Wes whispers back.

Laurel can fake it through one dinner. Hell, she’ll fake it for the rest of her life if she has to. She’s already pretending with everyone else, why shouldn’t she pretend with Michaela too?

Laurel mostly talks to Wes, because she’s sitting next to him, and it’s easier than talking across the table, like everyone else is doing.

It’s oddly nice.

This is better than any dinner she's had with her family in years, because she actually feels like she’s part of the fabric of this group.

Wes is personable and carries a lot of the conversation so that she doesn’t have to. He even makes small talk with Caleb, which Laurel thinks might qualify him for sainthood.

It’s good to have the group together again—it’s especially good to see Oliver and Connor as happy and in love as ever. They’ve recovered from the drama of Philip and the Hapstalls pretty well, and while Laurel is pretty sure Connor’s never going to tell Oliver what happened the night Sam died, she also thinks they look like they’re closer than they’ve ever been.

They seem genuinely happy to be together, and it’s the kind of happy that burns its way through Laurel as envy.

All she has is a fake marriage.

Nothing about her life feels real except this, right now.

Wes places a hand over hers in support, and Laurel realizes she’s been quiet for a moment too long.

Laurel smiles her thanks.

In the corner of her eye, she catches Michaela looking at them, and Laurel’s not sure what to make of the look on her face.

It’s not like Laurel should try to turn this around, and make Michaela jealous. Michaela’s already shared gooey smiles and sex eyes over the dining room table—which, now that Laurel thinks of it, may not have been used before tonight in this house—so that’s just not going to happen.

Michaela doesn’t care if Laurel dates Wes, or if she sleeps with him.

Michaela wants her perfect career and her happy life, and at the moment she wants Caleb. He might not be the guy she wants a year from now, but Laurel is never going to be the girl she wants.

Because, at the end of the day, Michaela’s never going to want a girl, and she’s never going to want Laurel.

Even if she were attracted to women she’d still never want Laurel, because Laurel has ruined her life more than one time now.

They may be friends now, but that doesn't mean that Michaela would ever open her heart up to her.

There are a million reasons why Laurel’s heart is going to shatter into pieces, and the worst part is that she knows them now, when she’s just figured out that she’s falling in love with Michaela.

The food is great, but the realization of unrequited love sucks.

~~

Love is an extra complication that she wasn’t really looking for.

After the dinner party, when it’s just the two of them cleaning up after the mess, Michaela turns to Laurel.

“It was perfect,” Laurel says, cutting off the question Michaela is about to ask. “You did an amazing job.”

“Thank you,” Michaela says graciously. “And thank you for your help. I really appreciate it.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Laurel points out. “I’m pretty sure we’ve got a marriage certificate around here somewhere that attests to that fact.”

Michaela smiles. “Us getting married didn’t mean we had to be friends. And I know it’s been a while already, and that I haven’t said it before, but I’m glad that we are. Friends, I mean.”

“Me too,” Laurel says softly, getting a stubborn piece of food off a dish and setting it in the dishwasher. Laurel clears her throat. “So, what does Caleb think about the whole marriage thing?”

Michaela sighs. “He’s not super happy about it, but we just started dating, and it’s too early to get too territorial. I hope he’ll be okay with it. I think tonight helped, because he saw that there’s nothing between us. I think he was worried.”

“For no reason,” Laurel adds, like somehow the words will make some sort of a difference.

“Yeah,” Michaela agrees. She smiles slyly at Laurel. “I saw the way you and Wes were talking. Is there something going on with you and the puppy?”

Laurel shakes her head and laughs. “Not even a little.”

Michaela shrugs. “Too bad. I spotted chemistry. I was hoping you could end up as happy as me, but I guess we’ve got time, right?”

“Right,” Laurel echoes. “I am happy,” she says, and while it isn’t entirely true, it is mostly.

Most people have a lot less in their lives, and Laurel’s pretty damn lucky.

“Really?” Michaela asks. She stops wiping the counter and turns to meet Laurel’s eyes. “Because you haven’t really seemed happy lately. I’ve been worried.”

“Did you know our six month anniversary is next week?” Laurel says conversationally, trying to change the subject.

Michaela looks torn between wanting to continue the conversation and wanting to comment on the fact that they’ve been married for almost six months already.

The latter wins out, exactly like Laurel knew it would.

“We should do something,” Michaela suggests. “Or not, if that’d be weird.”

“You know, I’m not really sure what other fake married people do on their six month anniversaries,” Laurel says. “Maybe there’s a thread about it online somewhere,” she suggests with a smile.

“I think we’ll probably just have to figure it out as we go along,” Michaela says. “I mean, I know that it doesn’t mean what it does to most people, but it still means something.”

“Yeah,” Laurel agrees. “It does.”

In fact, Laurel rather wishes it meant a hell of a lot less.

She’s not sure if it’s because they’re married, or if it’s just physical proximity, or if it’s just because it’s  _Michaela_ , but here she is, in love with her own wife.

It feels almost worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy, but Laurel’s not really in the mood to end up dead.

~~

Caleb starts coming over to the house every day.

It makes sense, after all. He’s dating Michaela, and she’s busy, so weekends and evenings are the best time for them to spend time together. And, of course, a lot of Michaela’s free time is spent in their house.

Laurel tries to get used to his presence as quickly as possible.

It doesn’t really work.

He’s a decent person, so that’s not the problem, but she’s not used to people intruding into her space all the time.

She also thinks he might be able to see right through her, and that makes her a little aggressive sometimes.

She finds herself biting off sarcastic retorts and softening comments with smiles, to make them sound like jokes.

She’s not exactly being mean to him. It’s not like she’s spitting a litany of insults at him.

By the time that her six month anniversary to Michaela comes around, she’s honestly not surprised when he’s sitting there in her living room, watching her television, cuddling with her wife.

None of this is grounds for jealousy, but here she is anyway.

Laurel heads through the living room toward the doors to their bedrooms without more than a cursory hello, and then sets her gift for Michaela in front of her door.

It’s nothing big, just a set of ove gloves because she keeps complaining about her hands burning through their oven mitts, and a friendship bracelet, as some kind of weird slap at her own face.

This is what they are, and this is what she has to remind herself.

Later, she wanders into the kitchen for a late night snack, even though she’s not supposed to go to sleep after she’s eaten. For some reason no matter what she eats, she gets heartburn, and then has weird as hell dreams.

There’s a half-eaten brownie on the counter, and Laurel helps herself to it.

She also notices a box with her name on it.

It’s a Z Nation novelty figurine of weird not quite zombie Murphy.

She loves it.

And this, of course, is why she’s so screwed.

~~

Connor and Oliver are over, because Michaela’s actually pretty friendly with them.

Laurel gets it, and she’d rather it be them than some random people.

At least she knows them, and knows what they’re capable of.

Trust makes all the difference in the world.

“We should double date with you and Caleb,” Oliver suggests, and Laurel freezes in the kitchen and pretends like she’s not even listening, like she wouldn’t even care if they thought she could hear them.

“As opposed to a double date with you and your wife,” Connor mock whispers and laughs. It’s not meant to be mean, just representative of the weird dynamic they have.

This isn’t normal.

Then again, Laurel’s never been very good at normal.

“Shut up, Connor,” Michaela says, and Laurel can practically hear the eye roll that comes with it. “But yes, that sounds like a great idea.”

Michaela really likes Caleb, and that doesn’t surprise Laurel, because she’s seen the way they are together, and the looks of lust on their faces.

But this is just escalating quickly. They haven’t even been dating very long, and Michaela’s attached to him more than she should be.

It’s going to get her into trouble.

Laurel’s tempted to look into Caleb, to make sure that he’s not doing anything untoward these days. But there’s an unspoken code of conduct between herself and Michaela, and that would be crossing a line, even if it were done in the name of friendship and all that jazz.

And so, Laurel sneaks out of the kitchen before anyone notices that she was there, and right back into her bedroom.

And then, she makes a slightly different kind of mistake than breaking Michaela’s trust: she starts going through her phone, looking for someone who would be up for a booty call.

She needs to move on, and the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right?

~~

She ends up at a bar with Wes, who for some reason had agreed to be her wingman.

Maybe it’s because she’d whined and pleaded, and was therefore clearly in need of a pick me up, or maybe he’s just too nice for his own good when it comes to people he likes.

“We should get you laid too,” Laurel says, looking for someone, anyone who hits the spot.

Wes laughs. “I’m not really in the mood for small talk,” he says.

Laurel sighs, because the truth is that she isn’t either.

She sizes up Wes, who is definitely hot enough, and then frowns.

She’s about to suggest something wild and ridiculous, but then Wes turns back to see her face and then shakes his head.

“I have no idea what you’re thinking, but it’s clearly not a good idea,” he says.

“You don’t know that,” Laurel points out. “It could be a brilliant idea, and you’d be turning it down without ever knowing.”

Wes looks curious, but cautious. He’s very careful these days. He doesn’t let people in as easily as he did when Laurel first met him. He’d swallowed up Rebecca so fast, and she’d been a prickly potential murderer.

“I was thinking,” Laurel begins. “That we should just screw each other, in the name of friendly relief.”

Wes laughs so hard he snorts. “I don’t even know where to start with that, Laurel. You know better.”

He’s right, even though she wishes that he weren’t.

She knows it’s a bad idea, just like she knows there’s no point in bothering with any of the guys or girls in this bar.

Her heart isn’t in it, and a little bit of mindless sex isn’t going to clear her mind, it’s just going to cloud the issue.

“I should tell her how I feel,” Laurel says, and Wes gives her a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah, Laurel. You should.”

He’d been right before, and he’s still right now.

Laurel has so much that she can’t share with people, and this is one of the few things she can purge from her soul with a little confession.

She needs to take advantage of that, before she gets completely overwhelmed.

~~

When Laurel gets home, she hasn’t actually had that much to drink, and most of it has already worn off, so she can tell immediately that Michaela is in a bad mood.

First of all, she should be on a double date right now, but instead she’s standing in their kitchen, banging around pots and pans like she’s trying to break the damn metal.

Her desire to tell Michaela the truth fades away, and instead she walks through the living room and then through their dining room cautiously until she gets to the island of the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” Laurel asks.

“Nothing,” Michaela bites out, and it’s clear that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Michaela,” Laurel says patiently. “I’m here, I’m your friend, and you can talk to me.”

Michaela turns to face her, and it’s clear she’s been crying onto the dishes for a while now.

Laurel wants to reach out to her, to offer some kind of physical support, but Michaela’s far enough from the other side of the island that Laurel can’t reach her without leaning ridiculously over the counter in order to do that.

She did that once, and almost fell over, so instead she settles for a sympathetic frown and a sigh. “What happened?”

Michaela wipes at her eyes. “I have allergies, and my eyes water.”

“If your eyes are watering that much from allergies, you might want to get that checked out,” Laurel says lightly.

“If your eyes are watering that much, meh meh meh,” Michaela mocks Laurel but then trails off. She sighs, leaning forward against the island and burying her head in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just tell me what’s going on.” Laurel’s trying to be as gentle as she can manage.

“Thanksgiving is in a week, and Caleb thought it might be nice to meet my parents, but of course my parents—“ Michaela hesitates, but Laurel can fill in the rest for herself.

“Your parents know that we’re married, and they think it’s real.”

Michaela nods. “And this isn’t the first time that our marriage has been an issue. We haven’t even been  _dating_ very long, and Caleb keeps talking about how maybe it’s time for us to get a divorce, maybe the police don’t even think you’re a suspect anymore, blah blah blah.” Each blah gets progressively louder and angrier, and Laurel is guessing that this was a sticking point.

“If that’s what you want,” Laurel says kindly. “Then that’s what you should do.”

Michaela shakes her head. “That’s the point, Laurel,” she says, lifting her head and meeting Laurel’s eyes. “That’s not what I want. You and I have built a life here, and it wasn’t for nothing.”

“But if you like Caleb, or even love him—“ Laurel takes in a deep breath. “Then you shouldn’t let that go just because we’re married. We can live separately, or—“

“No, Laurel,” Michaela interrupts. “That’s the point, I don’t want that. You’re—you’re the best friend I’ve got. You’re important to me, and even if I weren’t trying to protect you from going to jail, I’d still want you in my life, and Caleb—“

“Caleb doesn’t,” Laurel concludes. She’d ask why, but she already knows that answer to that question.

Unlike Michaela, Caleb knows exactly how Laurel feels about her.

“It’s over,” Michaela says then. “Caleb and I aren’t working out, and there’s nothing to be done.”

“I’m sorry,” Laurel says, and she is. She’s sorry for the hurt Michaela is going through, but part her is grateful that she’s not going to have to sit by and wait while Michaela falls in love with perfect prince Caleb.

It’s like a damn Disney movie, except now the ending is in question, because Caleb pushed her too far too fast.

“The sex was really good too,” Michaela says with a sigh.

Laurel fails to hide a grimace and Michaela smiles weakly.

“In other news,” Michaela says. “You weren’t here, so I called my parents saying that I was upset and overworked, and they’re visiting for Thanksgiving. They’ll be here from Wednesday to Saturday.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Laurel says. “Where are they going to sleep?”

Michaela winces, like she was just hoping that Laurel was going to let the whole mess slide. “My room, because it’s got more of a guest room vibe. I’m going to have to move all my crap into your room, which means that the next week is going to be hell.”

Laurel’s head is whirring—Caleb and Michaela are broken up, and now Michaela’s parents are coming for Thanksgiving.

“Just don’t let my parents find out that yours came to stay,” Laurel says wryly. “Or else they’ll demand a visit too.”

Michaela shudders. “Your family scares me,” she says.

“As they should,” Laurel says with a shrug, and she walks around the island and opens her arms. “Let’s hug it out. Come on.”

Michaela laughs, but acquiesces.

It’s a perfectly friendly hug, but it screws with Laurel’s head a little more.

Now doesn’t really feel like the time to tell Michaela she’s in love with her.

They’ve got work to do, and Laurel knows when to keep her mouth shut, and so that’s exactly what she does.

~~

The Pratts are friendly. They’re both poised, but happy people.

“I brought a few things for Thanksgiving,” Michaela’s mother says.

Michaela doesn’t take offense, like some people probably do with meddling mothers. Instead, she lights up. “Please tell me you brought the cranberries.”

“Did I bring the cranberries? Of course I brought the cranberries,” Michaela’s mother smiles. She finishes her hug with her daughter and then turns to Laurel, who is smiling quietly and awkwardly next to her. “And there’s my favorite daughter-in-law,” she says before wrapping her up in a tight hug.

“I thought I was your only daughter-in-law, Mrs. Pratt,” Laurel says, which earns her a laugh from Michaela’s parents.

“You’re still my favorite. Anyway, you should call me mama, like our girl here does.” Ella Pratt is a force to be reckoned with, and Laurel doesn't know how to argue with that.

Laurel’s already uncomfortable with the idea, but she’s so nice and friendly, Laurel doesn’t want to disappoint her. “Okay,” Laurel says with a smile.

Michaela’s dad gives her a tight hug too. “You can call me whatever you like,” he says with a friendly wink. He looks at their wall, where their laminated list of weird rules is. "What's this list here?" he asks. Number six, all pie is to be shared, or else the owner forfeits the entire thing?"

Michaela cuts in then. “We’ve got the guest room set up for you over here,” Michaela says, picking up one of her parents’ suitcases and rolling it over. Laurel picks up some of the smaller bags and brings them over too, and looks in as Michaela’s parents look over the room.

“It’s very homey,” Michaela’s mother says with a smile, looking over at Michaela and smiling. “I see your touch all over here, baby.”

Michaela’s smile doesn’t even falter. “I did some of the decorating,” Michaela explains. “When we’re super busy with finals we like to study in different rooms so that we don’t bother each other, and I wanted to make sure that this room had a good vibe to it.” She’s babbling a little, trying to make up for the fact that she’s lying.

Michaela can lie to the police pretty well, but put her in front of her parents and she looks about ready to fall apart.

“Over-explaining,” Laurel says softly so that just Michaela can hear her.

“Anyway,” Michaela says. “We’ll let you two get settled in, and then we’ll go out for dinner.”

“Sounds perfect,” Michaela’s mother says, and Michaela closes the door behind herself and she looks at Laurel.

They both sag against the wall. “We’ve got this,” Laurel says softly.

Michaela smiles gratefully. “You say that now.”

~~

Dinner goes pretty well, even considering that the chef of the restaurant they go to recognizes the famous Ella Pratt and insists on making them a very special dessert and showing them around her kitchen.

She’s an excited little chef fangirl, and Laurel doesn’t blame her.

She remembers how she felt the first time that she set eyes on Annalise Keating.

The good news is that dinner goes well, but the bad news is that once they get back to the house, it’s time to start working on elements of Thanksgiving dinner, which they’ve ended up inviting all their friends too, because apparently Michaela’s mother takes ‘the more the merrier’ very seriously.

They settle for Connor, Oliver and Wes. She probably would have invited them all over anyway, especially Wes, who doesn’t have any real family to celebrate with.

 “What are we supposed to do with all of this food?” Laurel asks Michaela. She's seen all the food that Ella intends to prepare the next day, and there's way too much of it.

“Oh, we’re going to be eating leftovers till Christmas,” Michaela assures her. “Anyway, mama always makes extras to take down to a shelter. And the boys won’t have a choice when she hands them giant containers of food to take home. She cooks like she’s cooking for an army, which she actually did for a few years before she met my dad.”

“Really?” Laurel asks, finishing up her nightly ritual and then sitting down on the side of her bed that she’s claimed.

“Yup,” Michaela sits down on the other side. “My mother’s quite the interesting person.”

“She’s wonderful,” Laurel says, and Michaela smiles sideways at her and leans back against the mattress.

When Laurel curls down under her blankets, she feels like the proximity to Michaela is going to kill her.

There’s this heavy feeling in her chest, but it’s not quite painful, it’s just that overwhelming calm you get when you’re next to the person you love, mixed with the anxious feeling that comes when that love isn’t returned.

This’ll pass, this’ll go away.

It always does, after all.

But in the meantime, she’s screwed.

Michaela rolls over onto her side, facing Laurel, like they’re two teenage girls at a slumber party, and it’s time to talk about boys.

“Do you think we’re ever going to have what my parents have?” Michaela asks softly. “Is anyone going to be okay with what our marriage means, or are we just destined for Caleb after Caleb after Caleb?”

Laurel turns her head to the side so that she can see Michaela. “I don’t know,” she says honestly. “If there’s someone out there who can understand everything and love you anyway, then you should grab onto them with both hands.”

“I will,” Michaela says. “I’m just not sure I’m going to meet that person. I’m not even sure if they exist.” She's giving Laurel a strange look now, and Laurel's not sure what it means. 

Laurel smiles, almost sadly. “I hope you do,” she says softly.

Michaela smiles. “I hope you do too,” she says, and it’s like someone took an ax to Laurel’s heart.

It takes Laurel a long time to get to sleep, which turns out to be a bit of a problem since they have to wake up early for turkey prep, and then to work on the rest of the sides and desserts.

But Laurel can’t help herself—she watches Michaela until her neck hurts and she can’t help but turn her head back so that she can look up at her ceiling.

This isn’t getting better, this is getting worse.

~~

Thanksgiving is a blur. There’s an endless amount of chopping and mixing and cleaning involved, but it’s nice. Laurel even pulls out the nice turkey platter they got as a wedding gift, and Michaela smiles at the sight of it.

The four of them work on everything together, and Michaela’s parents make jokes and cute little innuendos and act like the happiest, most in love people that Laurel has ever met.

She’s caught up in the happy love of it all. It all feels so functional, very unlike her own family, which is as dysfunctional as they come.

Laurel gets why Michaela is so protective of her biological mother, who gave her away so that she could have this family.

By the time that the boys show up for Thanksgiving, Laurel’s nearing blissful from pretending like her marriage to Michaela is real—it’s not even like work, because she’s already in love with her anyway.

Michaela and her father are in Michaela’s room right now, and Laurel goes over to pass the message from Michaela’s mother that the turkey is finally done.

The door is ajar just a smidgen, just enough for Laurel to hear them talking about her.

“She seems like a solid woman,” Michaela’s father tells her. “She clearly loves you very much.”

Laurel winces at that remark, and wonders what she should do, because someone’s going to see her standing here any moment and the potential for extreme awkwardness is growing.

“She’s great,” Michaela says. “I couldn’t have found a better partner.”

Laurel knows that that’s just what she’s saying, but it still makes her heart beat faster and her cheeks redden slightly.

“You seem very happy,” her father says. “Which is why I don’t understand why you called us the other day so unhappy.”

“It wasn’t about Laurel,” Michaela says. “Laurel’s great. It’s just everything else sometimes. It’s hard.”

This isn’t about Laurel, and honestly she’s already been listening for too long, and there have been no real deep revelations from her breach of privacy.

Laurel knocks on the door and slides in like she just got there. “Knock knock,” she says, “Turkey’s done.”

“Thank you, Laurel,” Michaela’s father says, “It’s time for dinner,” he says, putting his hand behind Michaela’s back and guiding her to the door.

There’s genuine affection there, the kind of love that kids are told all their parents feel for them, but soon learn is far more rare than it should be.

Laurel’s not jealous of this, not even a little. Instead, she’s thankful for what brought it into her life, even though some of it was terrible.

Sometimes blessings come in disguise, and you just have to open yourself up to them.

Laurel’s heart is wide open right now, surrounded by friends and Michaela’s family, and Michaela herself.

She knows some of it isn’t real, but it still feels perfect, and for a while, she wishes it would last forever.

~~

They send everyone home with leftovers, and Laurel watches Michaela carefully.

She smiles sadly, and tries to hold onto this moment as long as she possibly can.

Michaela’s mother sidles up beside her. “You know, I was surprised when Michaela called and told me that she was getting married at a moment’s notice.”

“That was—“ Laurel starts to say, turning to meet her eyes and then pausing when she sees the look on her face.

“It was fast. Michaela’s always been a particularly stubborn kind of girl. She always wanted the very best, because she’d seen the worst of the world, and decided it wasn’t for her.” Ella smiles at the memory.

“She deserves the best,” Laurel says without hesitation, and Ella smiles.

“It surprised me when she chose you,” Ella admits. “She’d never shown much interest in girls before. But you’re exactly the type of person she’s always been attracted to. It makes sense that she chose you. Though I’ve had my theories about why you too got married so fast.”

“It just seemed like the time,” Laurel says calmly. “I love your daughter,” she says, and while she once would have said it and not meant it at all, now she does.

Ella gives her a careful look. “I can see that that’s true,” she says. “Which is why I’m trusting you to take care of my baby girl.”

“Always,” Laurel says without hesitation, and Ella claps her hand on Laurel’s shoulder.

“Then you are a welcome addition to my family,” she says, and Laurel feels like she’s gained royal approval.

It’s a nice feeling, even if it’s all based on lies.

~~

That night, Laurel falls asleep quickly, because it’s been a long day.

It’s probably for the best, because she doesn’t actually want to spend her night mooning over Michaela. There’s no sense in that, because it serves no real purpose.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Laurel drifts back to the waking world for a moment, and her eyes flutter open.

Michaela’s looking at her.

Michaela redirects her eyes in embarrassment. “Sorry,” she mumbles, and Laurel’s not sure what’s going on.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Laurel asks lightly.

“Yeah,” Michaela says, but it feels like there’s more to it than that. “Your bed is more comfortable than mine.”

“Which explains why you’re not sleeping,” Laurel points out, and Michaela flashes her a quick smile.

“It’s not that,” Michaela says, and she looks back at Laurel and her breath seems to catch in her throat.

She averts her eyes again, and turns over onto her back.

“Are you okay?” Laurel asks, even though sleep threatens to overtake her again.

“I’m great,” Michaela replies softly. She turns back again quickly, almost furiously, like there’s something really bothering her, but when she opens her mouth to speak, Laurel watches as she fails to find the words.

Laurel has a strong, overwhelming urge to kiss Michaela now, but she fights it like she always does.

And there’s a look in Michaela’s eyes that seems strange. Michaela looks down at Laurel’s lips, and then back up to her eyes, and Laurel blushes.

She wonders if Michaela can see her reddening face in the moonlight.

Laurel thinks Michaela must be able to read her mind, and she’s clearly figured out that she has feelings for her. Or worse yet, Laurel’s just imagining things.

“Laurel,” Michaela says hesitantly. “I think we should—“

Laurel cuts her off. “We should go to sleep,” she says gently. “I’m sure your parents will have us up early tomorrow.”

Michaela smiles, but even in the moonlight Laurel can tell it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, we should sleep."

~~

The next few days fly by, and between the busy, full house and the fact that Laurel has tons of studying to do, she tries(and mostly succeeds) not to think too much about Michaela, and the oddness she must have imagined between them.

It’s Monday before they actually sit down together, just the two of them, eating leftovers and watching Supergirl.

“My parents like you,” Michaela says conversationally. “More than Aiden, apparently.”

“It’s nice to get the parental seal of approval,” Laurel says. “Though if you’re expecting the same from my parents, you’d better not hold your breath.”

Michaela shrugs. “From the little you’ve told me about them, and the time I spent with them when we were planning the wedding, I’m not sure you even expect them to approve of  _you_.”

She’s not wrong.

“They try,” Laurel says lightly.

“Not very hard,” Michaela says with a snort. “You deserve better than them.”

Laurel’s heart thumps painfully in her chest. “I’m not sure that’s true,” Laurel says. “I’m not any better of a person than they are.”

Michaela looks at her, and with complete certainty says, “Of course you are.”

Laurel’s not sure what to say to that, and so she refocuses her attention on the TV, and tries to think about the mountain of reading she needs to get through.

Anything but Michaela.

~~

Laurel feels close to Michaela, like now something has shifted between them.

There’s something amazing about that, but it’s painful too.

Laurel has the odd sensation that Michaela is watching her sometimes, that she’s searching for something.

Laurel’s not sure what she’s looking for, or if she’s going to find it, so she tries not to think about it too much.

Instead, she enjoys their few weeks together before the holidays.

They’ve got finals, and their DVR gets backed up perilously quickly, and they both keep swearing that they’ll catch up any time now, but somehow between classes and studying they barely manage to remember to eat most days.

Oddly enough, sitting in the same room surrounded by textbooks and piles of paper is what makes Laurel feel like she’s closer to Michaela.

This is a sort of friendship that she understands, and it’s easier than talking to her about things that matter in different ways.

It’s easier to talk laws and precedents than it is to talk about feelings or boys, or family.

And finally, it’s over, and Laurel’s left sinking down onto her favorite couch and moaning.

She hasn’t moved two hours later when Michaela shows up after her last final, and she really should, because she’s getting the urge to pee.

“My brain is broken,” Michaela says with a whine and slides down onto the couch next to Laurel.

“I’m sorry,” Laurel says. “I’ve forgotten what having a brain even feels like, since my last final blew it to pieces.”

Michaela sighs, and twists to get more comfortable, and ends up leaning against Laurel’s head.

She should move, because it’s not good to give her heart hope, but it also feels really, really good.

They’re quiet, for a while, lying on the couch and breathing careful, tired breaths.

“Laurel,” Michaela says softly. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay,” Laurel says. “But first I have to pee.”

Laurel gets up and forces herself to the bathroom.

While she’s there she buries her head in her hands, and she contemplates falling asleep, but then remembers that she’s supposed to have some kind of conversation with Michaela.

Again, she practically drags her feet out into the living room until she feels wide awake and overwhelmed at the sight before her.

“Frank?” If Laurel were holding something, she thinks she’d probably drop it.”

Frank smiles that smarmy smile of his. “The one and only,” he says.

“I should go,” Michaela says, picking up her bag and leaving to her bedroom.

Laurel’s a little speechless, and she can’t tear her eyes away from Frank.

After months of not a single word or message to her, he’s standing in her living room, and she has no idea what she’s supposed to do about it.

“Leave,” she says, and it’s not as forceful as she’d like it to be, but she’s a little bit in shock, you know.

“Come on, Laurel,” Frank says. “I had to leave. But I came back, and I think I can get you out of this whole marriage mess.”

“I’m not really interested in your help,” Laurel says, and there it is, she’s found her righteous anger.

A different Laurel would be ripping off his clothes right now, and having some serious hate/forgiveness sex.

But this Laurel has learned the hard way that things don’t always turn out the way you want them to, and somewhere along the line she fell in love with someone who makes her challenge herself, even if that doesn’t necessarily make her a better person.

It has, however, made her a stronger one.

Laurel’s not interested in being Frank’s foolish girl again.

She’s not interested in trusting someone who clearly didn’t trust her.

She feels herself harden, and she summons the strength to look him dead in the eyes. “I don’t want anything to do with you,” she says calmly, and steps up to him. “Now get the hell out of my house.”

He acquiesces, though before she slams the door he sighs and says. “I’ll be back.”

She hopes not.

~~

Michaela doesn’t come back out for the rest of the day, at least as far as Laurel can tell.

When she finally comes out the next day, she’s pulling along her suitcases.

“I thought your flight wasn’t till Tuesday,” Laurel says, and Michaela doesn’t even look at her.

“Oh, you know,” Michaela says breezily, in that fake way she does when she’s upset but pretending not to be. “I moved up my flight, thought I’d get in a few extra days. I already explained to my parents why you can’t come, because of your family. Anyway, I have to go,” she says.

“I’ll see you soon,” Laurel calls after her, because it seems like she can’t get out fast enough.

She feels like she’s done something wrong, but she can’t quite figure out what it is.

~~

“Where’s your wife?” her bitter uncle Alex asks.

“With her family,” Laurel says shortly.

“I thought you were supposed to be her family,” Laurel’s mother says softly under her breath.

Laurel gives her a sharp glance, but then looks back down at her food.

Don’t feed the drama, Laurel, don’t do it.

She should know better than to think that anything good will come of that.

Next year, Laurel resolves, she’ll stay home alone if she has to, pretending that she has plans with her wife.

“I heard you got an offer from Donato and Associates for an internship,” her father says now, and she’s grateful for the change in subject, even if she finds it suspicious, because her father doesn’t have a history of trying to help her out of the messes she gets into.

“I did,” Laurel says. “I start in late January. They said if they like me, it’ll roll over into the summer.”

Her father nods solemnly, and it almost seems like some sort of acknowledgement that she’s done well.

It’s progress, because normally she can tell if he approves by the number of complaints he has about her choices.

“I feel like you could aim a little higher,” her father says, and she bites back a smile.

She knows him too well.

This is why she tries so hard, why she strives to succeed.

“Maybe she can’t,” her grandmother says, and her nana, the grandmother who actually likes her, frowns.

“She’s a good girl, and she knows what she’s doing.”

She knows how to fight her own battles too, but it’s always nice when someone stands up for you.

Laurel's mother scoffs and looks sharply at Laurel, daring her to say something.

Laurel just smiles, lifting her chin slightly.

She doesn’t want a repeat of last year, even though she’d been proud of her exit.

She’d gotten fifty voicemails from her family members, declaring her to be a disappointment, a failure, and all those fun things Laurel fears the most.

She knows she’s better than that, but hearing it from her family still hurts, even though she wishes she didn’t.

“I also hear that your wife is making excellent connections,” Laurel’s father says now. “You chose well.”

Now that, Laurel thinks, is the nicest thing he’s ever said to her.

“She could have chosen better,” Laurel’s mother says, and Laurel fights the urge to roll her eyes until her mother looks away from her, and then they practically fall out of her head.

She should have stayed home for the holidays. Her favorite cousin isn’t even present, her mother’s in the midst of redecorating  _again_ , which means she’s in a perpetual snit, and though the food is good, she’d rather eat a cold frozen dinner.

~~

She texts Michaela after her Christmas dinner.

It’s only been a week since classes ended, but Michaela’s been quiet. Too quiet, actually.

It makes Laurel nervous, but it also makes her heart ache in her chest so much she wishes she could pull it out.

Frank is still calling and texting her, and she hasn’t responded a single time.

She doesn’t care what he has to say, and she doesn’t want to see him.

He’s not relevant anymore. She’s moved on, and even though there are things she’s not entirely happy about in her present, she’s also finally found herself again.

She’s madder than he came back than she was when he left, and she thinks that says everything.

She’d loved his family, and maybe even started to love him, but when someone leaves you, Laurel believes that you should cut them out of your heart completely, and never let them back in.

 _I’m doing well,_ Michaela writes back.  _Hope you are too._

And that’s it.

Laurel texts back some comment about how ridiculous her family is, and how much fun Michaela must be having with hers, but Michaela doesn’t respond.

After twenty minutes of waiting around like some lovelorn teenager, Laurel grabs the good whiskey and starts drinking.

Her father won’t miss it, because the people in this family drink like they’ve all got something to hide from, and Laurel’s no different.

~~

She dials Wes, and has no idea where he is or what he’s doing.

“Do you think if I had a penis, I’d have a chance with Michaela?” Laurel asks, and Wes barely contains a laugh.

“You haven’t told her yet, have you?” Wes asks, and then sighs. 

Laurel changes the subject, because she doesn’t like feeling like a coward, and that’s how she feels now. “Frank’s back.”

Wes is silent then for a moment. “I know, I—he stopped by the office.”

“You’ve been working with Annalise again, haven’t you?” Laurel asks, then sighs.

She worries about Wes.

“It’s complicated,” Wes says, and of course it is.

Laurel isn’t worried that Annalise is going to chew him up and spit him out, because she’s got a fondness for him that Laurel doesn’t quite understand.

But in another fight, he could easily end up as collateral damage.

“Be careful,” Laurel says.

“I will,” Wes promises. “You need to tell her, Laurel.”

“I know,” Laurel says. She stares at her bottle and frowns. “So how was your Christmas?”

“Strange,” Wes says. “Annalise invited me over, and both Nate and Eve were there.”

Laurel laughs. “That sounds like even more of a trainwreck than my family’s Christmas dinner. Tell me everything.”

It’ll be a nice distraction from the state of her own life.

~~

Michaela gets back from her family almost as late as she can manage. Her flight comes in the night before classes start, and it’s not exactly the best approach if she wants to feel well-rested, but Laurel supposes it is if Michaela’s plan is to avoid Laurel.

But Laurel is feeling strong today, buoyed by the fact that Wes had firmly reminded her to tell Michaela how she feels.

She feels ridiculous.

Michaela shuts her bedroom door behind her after a basic hello, and Laurel knocks on the door and can hear when Michaela sighs.

“Yeah?” Michaela calls out.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Laurel says, and there’s a long pause.

“Fine,” Michaela says, sounding resigned. “Go ahead.”

Laurel opens the door.

“Is this about Frank?” Michaela asks. “Are you just giving me the heads up that he’s going to be around a lot more?”

Laurel looks at Michaela in surprise. “I don’t want anything to do with Frank,” Laurel says.

Michaela relaxes. “Oh? Cool.” It’s like a flip switches and suddenly Michaela seems open. She’s even smiling slightly while she unzips a suitcase on her bed. “I thought you guys were getting back together.”

And suddenly it makes sense to Laurel. Michaela hates Frank for some reason, and she’d been standoffish because she was uncomfortable with the idea of having to see him constantly.

“Not a chance,” Laurel says. “I’m over him. I actually have feelings for someone else.”

“Oh?” Michaela asks, jerkily pulling her clothes out and starting to hang them on hangers.

She seems a little vicious, a little less careful than she usually does.

“I know this is weird,” Laurel says. “I don’t want to make things awkward between us.”

“It’s fine,” Michaela says. “it’s just a fake marriage. I dated Caleb, and now you’re dating someone else. It’s totally fine.” Weirdly enough, it doesn’t seem totally fine. Michaela stalks over to her closet then.

“I’m not dating anyone,” Laurel says, and Michaela sneaks a look at her, and then works on hanging up the rest of her clothes.

Michaela hangs up the last dress and wanders a little closer to Laurel, and Laurel swears she looks like she’s ready for battle, like she’s steeling herself for something serious, and Laurel has no idea what’s going on with her.

It’s strange, because she’s usually pretty good at reading Michaela, but maybe her feelings are in the way. Maybe her own heart is obstructing her view.

“Okay,” Michaela says. “Did you want my help getting someone to like you? Because that’s kind of middle school, and I’ve seen you in action, you don’t really need the help.”

“I don’t think there’s anything I could do to get the person I like to like me back,” Laurel says, and she feels silly for not coming out and saying it, but she’s already started on this path of talking around it, and she’s not sure how to fix it.

She just needs to say it, she determines.

“I’m sorry,” Michaela says, and she softens a little. “Unrequited love isn’t fun,” she says. “But I’m sure you’re misreading the signals. Maybe you have a shot—“

She’ll keep talking if Laurel doesn’t stop her, and this conversation is getting painful.

“It’s you,” Laurel blurts out, and Michaela looks at her in shock. “I’m sorry, Michaela. I know you don’t like girls, and I know that even if you did, there’s no guarantee that you’d like me. I just thought you should know.” She tries to sound blasé, like she’s talking about the weather, like she hasn’t potentially just ruined the best friendship she has.

Michaela’s mouth has fallen open slightly, and Laurel’s not sure what she’s going to say or do, but the silence between her words and the response Michaela should have starts to stretch out.

“You should have told me sooner,” Michaela says, stepping forward, and Laurel is pretty sure this is the first part of a gentle, friendly let down.

But Laurel knows that glint Michaela has in her eyes, and the determination in her steps, and it’s at odds with the response that Laurel is expecting from her.

Michaela stops just in front of her and then smiles slightly, and then looks terrified out of her mind.

She reaches out with a hand and tucks Laurel’s hair behind her ear, even though there’s no reason for her to do so.

Laurel is holding her breath, a little afraid to hope, but also afraid to breathe too hard and disturb the universe.

Michaela looks like she’s trying to get herself to do something, and Laurel knows she’s contemplating kissing her.

She can read the signs, and Michaela’s intentions are clear.

“You don’t have to pretend,” Laurel says softly. “Or try to force yourself to like me. You’re not going to lose me because I’m in love with you.”

At her last words, Michaela quickly closes the distance between them and presses her lips against Laurel’s, like she’s dying and Laurel is her salvation.

Laurel catches up quickly, circling her arms around Michaela’s neck and pulling Michaela flush up against her body.

Michaela’s lips are soft, but sure. She’s not tentative anymore, she’s taking exactly what she wants, teasing and gently grazing her teeth against Laurel’s lip when she pulls away.

“I love you too,” Michaela says and Laurel has no idea when  _that_  happened.

“How?” Laurel asks, resting her head against Michaela’s.

They’re still flush up against each other, because Laurel’s arms are still around Michaela’s neck and Michaela’s hands are cupping Laurel’s face.

“Caleb—he said that I needed to choose between you and him, and I told him he was being ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry,” Laurel says, but Michaela shakes her head.

“He told me to ask myself why I wouldn’t leave you, and the truth is that I—“ Michaela smiles softly. “I chose you, without hesitation. And that’s pretty terrifying, because you’re exhausting, and you drive me—“

Laurel kisses her again, and Michaela pulls away.

“See,” Michaela says, exasperated, but smiling. “You know, I could never really figure out why I agreed to marry you,” she says softly. “I didn’t want you to go to jail for protecting me, but I—I’ve done worse things.”

“Michaela—“ Laurel says with a sigh.

“No,” Michaela shakes her head. “You fit into my life, Laurel. And that’s the biggest surprise that life has ever dealt me.”

“You fit into mine too,” Laurel says softly.

“I don’t know how this all happened,” Michaela admits. “And I’ve never, you know,” she says, lifting her eyebrows suggestively. “But I know how I feel about you,” she practically breathes out. ‘And I want to try.”

“We will,” Laurel says, and she presses her lips against Michaela’s neck, and Michaela breathes in sharply and laughs.

Her entire life has changed in mere moments, and Laurel just wants to roll around in this feeling forever. 

~~

Michaela had always wanted a big wedding, but she’s already had that.

And so, today, they’re renewing their vows in front of just the people they love, because no one else would understand.

Michaela’s holding onto Laurel’s hands so tight that Laurel thinks she’s about to lose feeling in them.

She’s smiling broadly too, and Laurel can’t think of a time when she’s been happier.

“You challenge me, and you change me, and I love you,” Michaela finishes her long and beautiful speech clearly and loudly, for everyone to hear. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Ditto,” Laurel says, and she gets some laughs, and Michaela gives her a stern, but happy smile. “I know I’ve said these words before,” Laurel continues, “But I promise to love and cherish you, and I don’t know how I could possibly mean that more,” she says softly. “But I hope that one day we find out, together,” she squeezes Michaela’s hands. “Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you, too.”

There’s clapping, but for now everything, including their stand-in minister’s declaration that they're  _still married_ , fades away. All Laurel can see is Michaela, and when they go in for the kiss, it’s a promise that means forever, but this time it’s not imprisonment, it’s freedom.

This is the first day of the rest of their lives. 


End file.
